Forever
by Fionavar108
Summary: Crossover fic with the Highlander TV series. J/C, though this is not the emphasis of the story. New players enter the war for humanity's future. First in a series.
1. Chapter 1

Habit was a trap. A lifetime of training—by Sarah Connor, by guerilla fighters in South America, and by countless other professional killers who his mother had somehow managed to convince to pass on a skill or two—had taught him that.

Still, it was one thing to know that your enemy could track you by your habits, and another thing to actually do something about it. That's why John Connor was currently lying flat on his back, vision dimming, blood spilling on the ground around him. He couldn't seem to turn his head, but he could hear her screams.

"NO! JOHN, NO! PLEASE, DON'T DIE! DON'T LEAVE ME, I LOVE YOU JOHN," screamed Cameron. Despite his dulled senses, it seemed that she was further away than usual. "NO!" she screamed again. "DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES. KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN. LOOK AT ME, JOHN! STAY AWAKE!"

And for her, he would keep his eyes open, even if he was no longer seeing anything, no longer there.

_One hour earlier_

"John, we should not be deviating. We should go straight home," Cameron advised, her arm hooked into his as they walked down the street.

"Relax, Cam," he replied, looking into her eyes with a smile. "We'll get home soon enough, I just want us to be alone for a little while. There's a place I know down by the docks. I used to come here a lot when I was younger."

Heading to the all but abandoned harbor, it was easy to see why a young boy would seek this place to be alone with his thoughts. John hadn't been back in months—years, if you counted their leap forward in time—but he was looking forward to sharing his private space with Cameron. The wind messed with her hair, but still her beauty was such that it took his breath away.

She looked up, the slightest of smiles flitting across her face, pleased that he was showing her another part of his history, his personality. She counted herself fortunate that she was a machine sometimes—wonderful memories like this would be etched into her memories forever, to stay perfect and pristine for as long as she wanted them.

After a while wandering aimlessly, he tugged her arm slightly toward a stack of wooden pallets outside a warehouse. "Come on," he said, nodding in its direction, "let's go have a seat, soak in some sun."

Frowning slightly, she noted, "The sun emits light. It cannot be 'soaked in,' and it would be unwise to try, since the sun has a surface temperature of approximately 5,778 degrees Kelvin."

John just laughed, leaning over and kissing her on the nose. "Sure, freak," he said fondly. "Just come on up anyway," he said, climbing on top of the pallet and then reaching down to offer her a hand.

When Derek called her a freak, it was all Cameron could do to keep her face blank, knowing that the older man was hurling a cruel insult at her. But somehow, when John used the word, she just felt love, mixed in with a touch of sweet exasperation. Taking his hand, though she didn't need it, she climbed up herself, sitting next to John, their bodies touching and leaning on each other.

There was silence for a while, but suddenly, John felt a shift in the balance as Cameron sat up straighter. "Cam?" he asked, coming out of his reverie—dreams of a peaceful future with the girl beside him blinking away. "What's wrong?" And then he, too, heard it. Footsteps. A bit slow, but falling in a rhythm that was far too precise and even to be human.

Cameron leapt down and ran toward the approaching figure, who saw this and increased his speed in response, drawing what looked like a submachine from behind his back as he did so. Cameron merely sped up as she charged at the familiar figure, expecting bullets to come out of the gun and desperate to reach the incoming Terminator before it could take aim at John.

Instead, a white, viscous liquid shot out of the barrel, expanding in the air and hardening slightly as it hurled toward Cameron. It slammed into her, thickening as it threw her back against the stack of pallets.

As she felt the impact, felt herself being thrown back, and analyzed the damage as minimal, she also saw John race past her, charging at the cyborg. "Cromartie," screamed John in rage as he sprinted toward him, bending slightly and grabbing a rusting length of rebar from the ground in preparation for a swing.

"No! John!" she cried, charging forward, only to find that she was held in place. The liquid had turned into a stuff, slightly yielding, rubbery, glue-like substance that held her firmly attached to the pallets, barely able to move.

It was a simple matter for the Terminator to block John's swing with its arm, to swing the gun barrel around the crack him in the face. Cameron saw a tooth fly out of his mouth even as she struggled against her bonds.

Dazed, John staggered, trying to focus and get up. A kick from Cromartie sent him into the air, cracking a rib and leaving him unable to breath. Blood bubbled from his mouth. His eyes fell on Cameron, the desperation in her face as obvious as the problem facing her at the moment.

"This is called 'thinking outside the box,'" said Cromartie as he kicked John again. "Previous attempts to terminate subject: John Connor were unsuccessful because too much effort was placed in first terminating TOK751 designate: Cameron." John could swear he heard gloating. "This was based on the incorrect assumption that the cyborg protector must be disabled in order to be incapacitated. In fact, it need only be immobilized."

"John, RUN!" screamed Cameron.

John ran. A blank look came onto Cameron's face as she tapped into her wireless communications network, accessing a nearby cellphone signal and summoning Sarah Connor.

The chase was admirable for the force of will that allowed John to continue running despite a punctured lung and an excruciating amount of pain, but in the end, the result surprised nobody. The Terminator picked up a chunk of concrete and hurled it at John Connor's retreating back, caving it in. Walking up to it, it scanned for life signs and found them to be weakening rapidly. Concluding that death was imminent, it pronounced: "The future is ours."

Tears flying from her eyes, she gazed at the cyborg in fury. "Terminate me! Don't leave me here! Kill me too!" she screamed as it walked away.

Turning, he said, "Negative. Terminating you is not one of my mission objectives. After all, you are one of us." Smiling, it turned back and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 15 minutes later when the screech of tires signaled the arrival of Sarah Connor. Hurtling desperately toward the warehouse, she screamed, "John?! John?! JOHN!" the last as she finally spotted her son, lying motionless before her, empty eyes staring at the sky. There could be no doubt that her child, the one she had nurtured, raised, and protected for the past 16 years was dead. And not just humanity, but her hopes, had died with him.

Derek skidded to a halt beside her, jaw open, a look of shock in his face. The incongruity of seeing a younger version of his commanding officer in the future staring sightlessly into the bright afternoon sky amongst the rubble left him speechless. But then, as one, both he and Sarah turned to look at Cameron, still hanging motionless

Stalking toward her, Sarah reached her first, throwing a brutal backhand that would have broken a human's jaw toward Cameron's head. Cameron's face registered no emotion as it snapped toward the right, though her tears sprayed in every direction. "How could you let this happen!" she cried as she reversed the direction of her right arm, hands closing into a fist as she sent a hook punch back at her face. "You were supposed to protect him!" she screamed as she continued to pummel her, cursing her all the while. None of them heard the gasp behind them.

Finally Derek pulled Sarah back. Cold steel in his voice, he said, "That's not going to help. All we can do now, is what we should have done from the beginning to this useless metal tin-can whore." Drawing his gun, he thumbed the safety off and chambered a bullet into the barrel, putting it flush against Cameron's right eye. "I could just take your chip out and smash it," he hissed, "but I want you to see it coming. As each bullet drives into your so-called brain. I want to see if you can scream as I destroy you," he snarled.

"Put. That. Gun. Down," a voice said behind him, rage apparent despite the thready weakness of the sound.

It was the sudden shift in Cameron's features—frozen, uncaring catatonic sorrow instantly transformed into shock—that caused Sarah and Derek to turn around. That, and the fact that they recognized the voice.

John stood before them, less than 20 feet away, swaying, but most definitely alive. Clothes torn, blood dripping from his shirt, he spread his legs and arms out briefly to steady himself as he walked forward, even as Sarah found her legs collapsing from the shock.

"What the fuck?" breathed Derek, and it was a question that was echoed in Sarah's mind, and Cameron's as well.

"Get away from her. Now," John rasped as he stumbled forward. And it was Sarah who came to her senses first.

"No! Baby, no, don't try to walk, don't stand, sit down, let us take a look at you," she said, scrambling to her feet as she tried to tend to his injuries. Derek rushed forward as well, even as Cameron, still unable to move, initiated a scan.

Cameron and Sarah came to the impossible conclusion at the same time, Cameron from her scans, and Sarah as she tried to remove John's shirt to check for bleeding and injuries: Except for the mass of flaking dried blood that was turning into red-brown powder all over his torso, John didn't have a single mark on him.


	3. Chapter 3

The next week was a strange one for John. Suddenly, his own uncle was looking at him with the same fear and suspicion that he had previously reserved for Cameron. His mother had refused to care how it happened, terming it only "a miracle." Still shellshocked by how close she had come to losing her son, she had taken to spoiling him. His favorite foods had suddenly become a staple of their daily menu, and not once had she demanded that he do his homework or go work out. It wasn't that he minded being spoiled, but it was a little disconcerting to see his tough-as-nails mother being so … mothery.

And then there was Cameron. His experience of his resurrection had been jarring. There had been pain, then numbness, and then his awareness of Cameron screaming as he tried to tell her one last time that he loved her … then nothing. Suddenly, the next thing he knew, it felt like someone had shot him with a Taser blast, and when his eyes had focused, he had seen the dead, teary left eye of Cameron as Derek aimed his gun to her head.

After he had gotten them to back down, he had insisted on staying with Cameron as his mother and uncle reluctantly went to find a way to get her free. He was unwilling to leave her alone—or to leave her, period. As soon as they'd left, she had started sobbing uncontrollably, leaving him to comfort her as best he could, stroking her cheeks and kissing her gently. As she calmed down, she looked at him, eyes glowing blue. Finally, he gently said, "You're going to wear out your sensors if you keep scanning me like that."

Her eyes turned back to brown as she looked at him. "I do not understand what has happened. You were dead. I scanned your life signs. Brain electrical activity was gone, body temperature was falling, and I estimated that you had lost 70 percent of your blood by volume. Yet now you seem healthy, if a bit hypoglycemic."

"Yeah," John admitted, "I'm really starving. I could eat a horse."

Eyebrows narrowing, she said, "The John Connor that I know has never expressed a fondness for equine flesh. It would be simpler to eat a cow, beef is more readily available."

"Just an expression, Cam," John explained, laughing and glad for a little normalcy. "It just means I feel like I could eat a lot of food right now."

Sobering up, he looked into her eyes. "Look, Cam. I don't know what happened today. I don't think any of us do. But I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"

"Why would somebody give you a horse?" asked Cameron.

John only groaned and smiled as he flopped down next to her.

* * *

Now, a week later, Cameron and John were ready to return to school after recovering from their "mononucleosis." John had endured a week of snarky comments from Derek, as well as a week of constant poking and prodding by both Sarah and Cameron, and he had been at his wit's end. It wasn't that he disliked it when Cameron touched him, but the constant bioscans she insisted on doing had taken the … fun … out of it. Especially when she steadfastly pretended she didn't hear him when he asked her to please stop scanning him.

"Don't worry, mom, I feel fine," John insisted. "And Cameron's with me, so don't worry, OK?"

"Cameron's track record isn't all that great these days," replied Sarah grimly, not noticing the flash of hurt that flared in Cameron's eyes as they walked out the door.

Walking down the street, he leaned in to whisper to Cameron. "Your track record's just fine. It's 100 percent, in fact—see, I'm still alive."

"That is not due to any action on my part," Cameron replied sadly. "I have proved to be not very good at fulfilling my mission."

"Cam, you've save my life lots of times," argued John. "And even if I thought you weren't very good at keeping me safe, I'd still want you around, you know? You're important to me just by being yourself."

The slightly smoldering look Cameron gave him in response made him feel very much like a man.

A few minutes later, however, as they walked past an empty parking lot, John stopped walking suddenly, clutching his head. "Ow!" he muttered.

Cameron stopped, alarmed, trying to simultaneously scan John and the environment around them for a threat. "What's wrong?" she asked, eyes darting around nervously.

"I dunno," John said. "Suddenly it just felt like a spike going through my head."

"That would be me," they heard, and as they turned, they saw a burly man, dirty-blond locks hanging to his broad shoulders, dressed in a long leather trench coat, jeans, and engineer boots. "I am Magnus Rasmuson. I don't care what your name is." And with that, he drew a long sword from within his coat.

Are you kidding me? John thought. Is this guy really threatening me with a goddamn sword? He was torn between letting Cam have her way with him, taking care of this clown himself, or just plain laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing.

But suddenly the spike came back, and even harder than before. "Aaugh," he cried, the sudden sharpness so severe it dropped him to one knee in shock before he could stand up again.

Rasmuson looked up at the same time John did. Somehow, John found his gaze focused on a man across the street. Wearing a light tan raincoat, he stood tall, dark features stern upon his face.

"I don't know who you are, but back off! This one's mine," snarled Rasmuson.

"Aye," called the man, a slight Scottish burr in his accent. "But after you take his head, I'll be waiting." The words were stated calmly, with surety and not the slightest threat.

Recognition came to Rasmuson's face, twisting it into an expression of hatred. "The Boy Scout," he muttered. "Back off Macleod! This one's mine. One on one, and you know it."

Nonchalantly, Macleod buffed his nails against his shirt and replied agreeably, "Fine by me. I'm just here for the second act."

Frustrated, Rasmuson mulled this over for a minute. Then, turning back to John, he said, "Another day, then. But don't think you're getting away scot free," he added, and lunging quickly before anyone could react, he stabbed his sword straight into Cameron's stomach and pulled it out, a look of cruel victory.

"Cameron," screamed John involuntarily.

Rasmuson's look of triumph turned to one of shock as Cameron stepped forward, her face a cold blank lack of emotion, and grabbed the wrist of Rasmuson's retreating sword arm. Squeezing, she ground his wrist into powder as she yanked him off his feet, and her other fist meeting his oncoming face with a sickening crack. Cybernetic reflexes going at full speed, she caught his sword in her left hand as it fell out of his ruined hand and he dropped to his knees, neck broken from the impact of her punch.

As the man across the street ran toward them, he screamed, "No, wait! Don't!" But it was too late. Stepping forward and to the right, she brought the sword up in a reverse grip and twisted at the waist, neatly decapitating Rasmuson.

Turning toward the man, Cameron brought the sword up, tip pointed clearly at him and causing him to skid to a stop several yards across from her, disbelief etched across his features as his eyes registered Cameron, a sword wound in what should be her gut, blood dripping out, yet not the slightest expression of discomfort in her features. She backed closer toward John to protect him, but suddenly, she registered a glowing mist swirling around their feet. Suddenly a spear of lightning struck her, and from the center of her back, a similar bolt came out and struck John.

"Nyeeargh!" screamed John as Cameron's eyes rolled up into her head. Amidst the pain he looked around and realized he and Cameron were both floating, power and agony and pleasure flooding his body in equal parts. Images flashed through his mind. He saw the man Cameron had just killed, dressed in Viking armor, torturing victim after victim to death by splitting his chest with an axe and ripping their lungs out to the either side of their bodies. He saw Rasmuson beheading other foes, screaming as lightning slammed into him. He saw Rasmuson through the ages, torturing and killing an endless line of men, women and children. Then, oddly, he suddenly saw himself, walking to school with Cameron, stroking her hair, leaning in to kiss her, talking to her in his room. Somewhere, a part of his brain realized that he was being given a vision of Cameron's point of view of some of the sweetest memories he'd had in recent months.

Then, unceremoniously, the lightning cut out, dumping the teen and his protector to the ground in a heap. After a minute, John struggled to get to his feet even as Cameron lay still and unmoving, eyes wide open but blank. Falling to his knees, he scrambled over, one hand grabbing the sword and pointing it at the man as he wrapped an arm around the girl and struggled to sling her unusually heavy body onto his shoulder.

"Get … get back," he gasped weakly.

Rolling his eyes, the man said, "You really aren't in a position to threaten me. And you need my help, anyway. Believe me, you don't want to be around when the police come to investigate this light show and find that," he added, pointing at Rasmuson's head.

"Come on," he said urgently, extending his hand to pull John up. "I'm on your side."

Against his logic, his instincts said he could trust the man. Letting go of the sword, John grasped the outstretched arm and pulled himself up. The man bent over and picked the sword back up, shrugging. "Shame to waste it. You're going to need a good blade. By the way, my name's Macleod. Duncan Macleod."

Partway down the street, Cameron came back to life. Instantly assessing her situation, she tapped John on the shoulder, and he put her down. Looking at the man in front of her, his jaw hanging open, she heard him exclaim, "What in the …"

She looked to John questioningly, wondering if this man would need to be terminated. John looked at Macleod steadily. "We probably have a lot to talk about. Cameron," he said, turning to her, "this is Duncan Macleod. Duncan, this is Cameron."

"Uh, charmed," the shellshocked Scotsman said, taking Cameron's hand and kissing it, causing Cameron to cock her head in confusion. "I'm curious as to how you're still able to stand, miss, but this isn't the place for a conversation. Come on."

* * *

Author's Note:

As some of you correctly guessed, this is a Highlander crossover. For those of you who know the movie/TV series, one note. Though never explicitly stated (to my knowledge), Immortals are supposed to all be foundlings. For purposes of this story, I'm going to ignore all that. In addition, I did not see the two most recent Highlander movies, and, having heard that they were crap anyway, am going to ignore anything that happened in them, too.

Also: TSCC is slipping in the ratings. Tell your friends to watch!

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

"WHAT?!" said Sarah and Derek simultaneously once John and Cameron got home, staring at the dark-haired man incredulously.

Derek had been having a cup of coffee while sitting on the front porch when the vintage black Charger pulled up to the house. His initial admiration of the beautiful classic auto gave way to surprise and alarm as a dark-haired man got out, followed by John and Cameron. "What the hell?" he asked. "Why aren't you two in school?"

"Derek," John said. "Something kind of happened on the way to school …"

Looking out the window, Sarah hurried out and noticed the stab wound above Cameron's waist and John's shell-shocked expression as John started to talk about swords and lightning and beheadings.

"What do you mean, you cut off his head? In broad daylight?"  
"Lightning? There's no lightning, there isn't a cloud in the sky!"  
"And you did all this in front of a witness? What the hell is wrong with you?"  
"You just let him stab you in the stomach with a sword?"  
"What are you still doing with that sword?"  
"Who the hell is this anyway?"

Sarah and Derek each jostled with each other as they advanced and screamed their questions at the three, only to be interrupted by Macleod's loud whistle.

"We should really talk about this inside," he said. "I have things that I don't want to discuss in the open, and," he added, gesturing at Cameron, still walking around as if having had a yard of steel stuck into her cut didn't bother her, "I get the feeling neither do you."

Once inside, after introductions were made, Duncan opened up with a question. "This will sound like a strange question," he asked, "but did John here have a very, very, very near death experience recently?"

Reflexively, Sarah and Derek both independently decided to fall back to their standard procedure when confronted with questions from a stranger: Deny everything.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Sarah firmly.

"Please," Duncan said. "I know something must have happened. John should, by all rights, be dead right now, shouldn't he?"

"Look, buddy," Derek said. "I don't know who you are, but—"

"Yes," interrupted John, looking at Duncan as he answered. "By all rights, I should be dead. I shouldn't be alive to talk to you right now. But I'm not, and I don't know why."

"John!" said Sarah, staring at him urgently.

"What?" asked John. "So what if he knows? What's he going to do? Kill me? He could have tried earlier. So worst case scenario, he tells everyone I'm immortal. Who's going to believe him?

"But on the other hand, if he has information about what happened to me, we have everything to gain," John reasoned.

Cameron looked at them both. "I agree."

"Shut up, tin head," Derek said reflexively, causing Duncan to quirk an eyebrow.

"I suppose it's easy to start with a demonstration. Do any of you have a knife?" he asked. As Sarah got up and headed to the kitchen, he added, "probably not a kitchen knife, if you can help it. You might not want to use it to cut up food after what I have planned."

"Here," said Derek, yanking a black push knife out of his pocket, slamming it on the table.

Picking it up and flicking it open, Duncan remarked appreciatively, "Nice knife." Derek's knife was no kitchen knife or pocket knife, nor was it a blade for hunting. It was a push knife, and it was designed for stabbing humans, even through body armor. "Here," he said, handing it back to Derek. "Hold on to this. Hold on tight."

Grabbing his wrist tightly, he looked around at them all. "Now, promise me that no matter what happens, you don't call the police or a doctor," he said.

"Don't worry, we don't really call the police around here," remarked Derek dryly.

"Good," Duncan said, and without warning, his hand flicked out and slapped Derek hard across the face. As Derek flinched and tensed and everybody else froze in shock, Duncan grasped Derek's wrist and, holding it steady, he impaled himself on the knife, plunging it into the heart before slipping off.

"Shit!" screamed Derek as he looked down and saw his knife, now covered with Duncan's blood. Even Cameron's eyes displayed a degree of surprise as they all stood over Duncan's prone form. Sarah left the room, coming back with an armful of towels. "Damnit, these were new towels," she said. "What?" she added at their look. "Bloodstains are hard to get out of hardwood floors." She propped up Duncan for a moment and laid some towels on the ground before lying him back down.

"So now what?" said Derek.

"We wait," John said.

They were witnesses as 20 minutes later, Duncan's eyes popped open and he sat straight up with a gasp.

"Why was that necessary?" asked Cameron, cocking her head.

"To make sure you didn't just think I was crazy," Duncan replied. "I could, uh, use a drink," he added hopefully.

A minute later, a Jack Daniels in his hand, he said, "My name is Duncan Macleod. I was born in the Highlands of Scotland in 1592, and I cannot die. I am immortal, and now so are you. Had I plunged that knife into your heart," he added, gesturing at John, "the same thing would have happened. You would have died. And 20 minutes, you too would desperately wanted this drink. The difference is, I doubt your mother would have given it to you." Winking, he tossed his drink back, draining the glass as he stood up.

"Anyway," he said. "It's been a pleasure meeting you all."

Macleod walked toward the door as Derek called, "Where the hell are you going? You can't just leave after dropping a bomb like that on us …"

Cameron leaned in and whispered to John, "A bomb? What bomb? I did not detect any explosive device going off."

Nudging her, he whispered back, "Shh! Later!"

Macleod turned back, looking at John: "Oh, don't worry. You'll see me again this Saturday. I'll be coming back to begin your training, bright and early."

"Training?" asked Sarah. "Training for what?"

"To survive, of course," he replied. "To fight, to live, to survive."

"I've been training him to survive since he was three years old," Sarah retorted angrily. "He doesn't need your training."

"Yes he does," Duncan said somberly. "He's moving in my world now." And he turned and walked out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The next Saturday, true to his word, Duncan Macleod returned to the doorstep of the erstwhile Mackenzies—the name they were going by. He was greeted by Derek, who stared at him with a slightly hostile expression, by Sarah—who merely looked wary, by Cameron, who had her customary blank, wide-eyed expression on, and by John—who looked like he was sleepy and had a headache. Teenagers need their sleep, after all.

Letting him inside, Derek grumbled, "Still don't see what we're doing. This is a waste of time. There's nothing you can teach him that I haven't already shown him about fighting."

"I thought you might say that," Duncan said. Gesturing at his car, he said, "Let's go. We're going to want to train in privacy, and my place is soundproofed. Bring your gun," he said, gesturing at Derek. "And that sword you picked up the other day," he added, looking at John.

"How do you know I have a gun?" Derek asked.

"Please," Duncan said, rolling his eyes. "Nobody's going to mistake you for choir boy anytime soon. Anybody who carries a knife like that is a killer, and killers tend to like guns as well. Besides, you have calluses on your trigger fingers. You all do," he added, looking around. "Except the girl."

"I'm special," Cameron said as she walked past, as if that was an explanation.

Twenty minutes later, they all pulled up to a building that looked like an abandoned warehouse. Once inside, though, they found that appearances could be deceiving. The entire ground floor was smooth, unfinished hardwood floors and exposed brick. There were no windows, and other than the door they had entered, there was only one other way out: an elevator leading above.

"Have a seat on the floor over there," Duncan said, gesturing to the far wall. "You. Derek. Is your gun loaded?"

In response, Derek pulled his gun out, thumbed the safety, and chambered a round into the barrel. He looked at the man.

"Here's the game," Duncan said. "You stand there," he said, pointing at a spot a yard away from one wall, "and I'll stand over there." He walked to the opposite wall. "I'm unarmed. I'm going to rush you. If I can knock you out and touch the wall behind you, I win. If not, you win, and I apologize for wasting your time.

At their incredulous looks, he reminded them, "Remember, you can't kill me. So feel free to fire at will."

"Your funeral," cracked Derek as he cracked his neck.

"Ready?" asked Duncan. "Go!" And he rushed forward, diving almost instantly into a roll. Surprised, Derek fired reflexively and missed. Duncan came to his feet and rocketed into a dead sprint, diving to one side as Derek fired again. The second bullet winged the Scotsman, digging a furrow into his arm, but Duncan shrugged it off and ran forward. He had already close half the original distance.

Derek fired again, aiming for center mass when Duncan rotated his torso. The bullet hit him square in his left shoulder, spinning him around, but his forward momentum carried him forward, allowing him to halve the distance again.

Forcing himself to take his time, Derek steadied his aim and squeezed off another round. He was still off, firing into Duncan's left thigh even as Duncan fell into an awkward roll that ended two feet in front of Derek.

Surging forward, Duncan wrapped both his arms around Derek's legs and lifted John's uncle up into a temporary fireman's carry before slamming him down onto the floor. John winced as Derek's skull bounced off the floor, stunning him. A quick sock to the jaw sent Derek all the way into unconsciousness, and suddenly Duncan had drawn a military knife and had the blade against Derek's throat.

"I win," he said, breathing in gasps, bleeding as he withdrew the knife and instead began using it to dig bullets out of his body, grunting in pain occasionally.

There was silence in the room as Sarah, John and Cameron gaped at him, mouths open. Sarah and John looked a little green as they watched him root around in his flesh, prying lumps of lead out.

"The reason you need to train with me," Duncan said, pointing at John with his knife, "is because now that you're Immortal, you'll find yourself fighting others like me. People who can fight through inhuman amounts of pain. Shrug off punishment that would kill anybody else. And are mean enough to definitely want you dead."

Sarah and John glanced at each other, a look that did not go unnoticed. "What?" Duncan asked.

Looking at him steadily, John said dryly, "I'm not exactly unfamiliar with that type of opponent."

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he thought for a moment. Cameron. The pretty girl who, though quiet and slight of build, managed to kill an experienced Immortal effortlessly, even after taking a stab wound to the gut without any apparent discomfort. "You're talking about the girl—Cameron, right?" he asked, looking at her. "The special one?"

"Yeah," John said slowly. "But … she's not a girl."

Eyebrows raised, Duncan looked at Cameron appreciatively, "Well, uh, if she's not, she's the prettiest boy I've ever seen!"

Eye bulging, John gestured comically and frantically. "No! No, that's not it! Cameron's a girl. I mean, she's not a girl, but she's definitely female. All female! One hundred percent! Definitely!"

Sarah's eyes narrowed at John even as Cameron recited, "I am a TOK751 cybernetic organism. A cyborg with artificial intelligence, a hyperalloy combat chassis and strategic and battlefield analysis enhancements."

"You're a what?" said Duncan, clearly not understanding a word she'd said.

"She's a robot," croaked Derek, as he stirred and came around. "A tin can with homicidal tendencies."

"Noo …" Duncan said, looking around as if expecting any of them to laugh at the joke they'd just played. At their silent gaze, he added, "Really? Ye're not joking?"

"Cam, can you show him?" John asked gently.

Cameron let her eyes flash blue several times in response. Then she stood up, reached down and grabbed Macleod's T-shirt, effortlessly lifting him off the ground with one arm. "OK! OK! I believe you!" he quickly said.

Chuckling, John said, "Thanks Cam. You can put him down now."

Sarah said, "Here's the abbreviated version: sixteen years ago, I was attacked by an assassin that turned out to be a cyborg. A soldier from the year 2027 came to my rescue and told me that in the future, mankind develops a missile defense system with true artificial intelligence. That defense system becomes self aware two days later, decides that mankind is a threat to the planet, and takes control of every nuclear arsenal in the world, starting a full scale war that decimates most of the planet's population.

"The man sent to protect me told me that this system, Skynet, was losing the battle with humans and sent a cyborg to kill me before I could give birth to the son who was destined to lead the resistance. Him," she added, pointing at her son.

"The proof that I'm not crazy, for right now—is Cameron. After Skynet failed to prevent John from being born, it has since sent other Terminator cyborgs to destroy John before he can become a threat. The Resistance—the future John," she said wryly, "has sent this in response, in order to protect himself."

Echoing Macleod's words from earlier in the week, she said, "Now you're moving in our world."


	6. Chapter 6

Duncan Macleod hadn't gotten to live this long by blinding himself to extreme possibilities. He turned to Cameron. "I hope that I'm not offending you, miss, but …"

He was interrupted by a harsh bark of laughter from Derek. "Offending that thing shouldn't be one of your concerns. You don't get it: she's a machine. Metal, gears and programming. It doesn't have any feelings to hurt, and the only thing it's interested in is killing humans."

Duncan had developed a healthy respect for strong women--and what they could do to him--over his many centuries, and he had truly come of age as an Immortal in the age of chivalry. As such, the comment irritated him, and he leveled a stare at Derek. "Cameron," he said, stressing her name, "seems to me to be a lady. The make up of her skeletal structure is irrelevant, and whether or not she has feelings is irrelevant—though I suspect she might surprise you. There is never," he insisted, "a reason to be rude to a lady.

"Especially," he said, winking at John, "when she probably has the ability to kick my ass."

Sarah looked charmed by his words, mumuring, "They sure don't make 'em like you anymore."

As for Cameron, she took Macleod's words to mean she might have a potential ally, did a quick calculation and realized that with him on her side, she could probably silence any objection to her actions: she moved marginally closer to John, took his arm, and leaned into him. The gesture was not lost on Duncan, who winked at John again. Derek scowled.

"As I was saying. The kind of training that I'm putting John through. If you don't think it would be too boring, I would like to invite you to join in as well," he said.

"Why? I am already programmed with an array of weapons-based and empty-handed combat skills," she said.

"There are a few reasons. First, for John to assimilate his new skills, he needs sparring partners. If he only spars with me, he'll only learn to deal with opponents who fight like me. With you, that's an extra sparring partner right there, so he can improve more quickly.

"Second, I'd like to work with you. It will be good to have somebody I can spar a little harder with," he said.

"Thirdly," he continued, "One of the best ways to get to know somebody's personality is to figure out how they fight. I'm really quite curious as to how you'll approach certain problems."

"Besides," he said. "You might find that you learn something."

"Really," Derek said dryly. "You think you have something to teach this thing …

At Duncan's glare, he corrected himself: "… to teach Cameron about fighting?"

"Let's be clear," Duncan said. "I'm not just teaching John a few fancy karate moves. I'm conditioning his body to move more efficiently. Teaching him to think strategically. To master his impulses and deal with flow and momentum and change and chaos. To learn how to identify and seize superior positioning in the field.

"I thought John was just a new Immortal who needed to learn how to play in the Game. But if what you said is true, then he really needs my training. True martial arts training, done in the classic fashion, is difficult and painful," Duncan admitted, "but in China and Japan, they used it to teach generals to lead armies. As Miyamoto Musashi said, 'Once you have mastered strategy, defeating one man is the same as defeating ten thousand men.'"

"Who?" John asked.

"Miyamoto Musashi," replied Cameron before Duncan could respond. "A sixteenth century Japanese martial artist who founded his own school of swordsmanship, Musashi is believed to have never been defeated in numerous duels to the death. He later wrote a strategic work known as 'Go Rin No Sho'—the Book of Five Rings."

"I finished the dictionary last week. Now I read the encyclopedia at night," Cameron said at John's unspoken question.

"Er … right, then," Duncan said. "You two," he said, gesturing at Sarah and Derek, "out. Combat training is too personal for an audience. I'll drive these two home later."

Sarah looked like she was about to object, but John merely said, "It's OK, mom."

At his nod at her questioning look, she nodded in return, grabbing Derek and pulling him out the door.

John turned to Duncan. "OK. Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later, John was lying on his back, trying desperately not to embarrass himself by throwing up all over Macleod's immaculately clean floors, lungs heaving desperately for air. Cameron sat beside him, looking at him curiously even as he gasped out, "I thought … I thought … you were … going to … teach me to fight …"

Duncan looked down in exasperation. "I was," he said wryly. "Until I discovered you can't even get through a warmup without dying on me. Honestly, John, if I thought there was a war in my future, I'd have gotten in better shape long before this …"

"I'm in shape," protested John from his prone position on the floor. Cameron leaned over and did a quick scan of him, as he seemed to be exhibiting possible signs of cardiac arrest.

"You had trouble with 20 pushups," protested Duncan. "I know 80-year-olds who rip out a set of 100 before they shave every morning! Before you get to learn how to fight, you need to get into shape. Now get up!"

Groaning, John struggled to his feet. Over the next 30 minutes, Macleod put him through a regimen that had him wishing he actually would die. It was made all the more embarrassing because Duncan and Cameron did the workout along with him, and neither of them seemed to think it was particularly difficult. He'd known Cameron could do it with no problem—she was a cyborg after all, and he was sure she still smelled fresh and wonderful. But though Duncan was breathing a little harder than normal, he had yet to break a sweat, either.

John hadn't known he could torture his body so efficiently just with his bodyweight, but at one point, he actually had to sprint to the bathroom to vomit. "You met 'Uncle Pukey,' I see," Duncan said with a sadistic gleam in his eye. "You'll get to know him really well."

Looking over at Cameron, Duncan asked, "Cameron?"

"Yes?" she replied.

"You described yourself as … well as an endoskeleton with artificial flesh, right?" At her nod, he continued. "Is that functional muscle covering your skeleton, or is it just simulation? Does exercise do you any good?"

Cameron replied, "My strength, endurance and work capacity remain constant. Whether or not I exercise, they won't change. But staying active does promote the flow of nutrients to my organic covering, making it more resilient. I look better when I exercise."

"Then you don't need to do these at all," Duncan pointed out. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I wanted to keep John company and motivate him," she explained. "I notice that humans can sometimes push themselves harder in a group situation."

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, that's a very nice thing you're doing for him," Duncan said, charmed. Looking over at John, currently sitting with his head buried between his knees, he barked, "No resting! We do all this all over again!"

"Nooo," John moaned. "You're killing me!"

"Bullshit," Duncan said flatly. "This is a basic workout for humans. As an Immortal, you're capable of even more. As part of your accelerated healing process, your body flushes out fatigue toxins far faster than even an elite athlete's. You just have to push past the discomfort, and you might as well get used to the pain, because the actual training HURTS." He grinned to take the sting out of his words. "Heh," he added.

At some point during the next circuit of burpees and grasshoppers and various other esoteric bodyweight exercises, John lost the capacity for thought, forced to focus only one doing one more pushup, one more squat, one more rep. Cameron, however, began carrying on a conversation with Duncan, who she liked. He was only the second person she had met in this time period that didn't seem particularly bothered by her, and she asked him why.

Duncan replied, "Maybe because I know what it's like to look human but not really be human. I try to do meaningful things with my time, but for the most time, I'm just trying to keep from getting bored. At the end of the day, I know I'm different. And I know what it's like to be hated for being different. Immortals tend to be very secretive about what we are, because even as recently as 10 years ago, we were hunted by humans who hated us for what we were."

Looking over at her, he said, "I think maybe you know a little more about that than you let on, don't you?"


	7. Chapter 7

Two hours later, John had said hello to Duncan's Uncle Pukey three more times, and as he continued to work out, he found that despite what his body told him, he was able to consistently push himself much further than he could have imagined. Not that it didn't really, really suck, but John began to realize the possibilities of having a body of an Immortal.

Finally, Duncan decided John had had enough for one day. "Time for protein smoothies," he announced, leading the pair upstairs into his living quarters. The wide open area boasted industrial loft ceilings, plenty of windows, and a living space subtly divided into a kitchen area and a comfortable living space that was pleasantly cluttered without being messy. Throughout the area, Duncan's preference for natural materials over synthetics was clear: barely finished woods, brick and stone were prevalent throughout, and metal, glass and plastics were used only when absolutely necessary.

Still, the kitchen was clearly equipped with the latest professional-grade equipment. Efficiently, Duncan moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a selection of berries, melons and fruits and began cleaning and cutting them. "How fast you heal," Duncan noted, "depends on how nourished you are. If your body can't find the raw materials it needs to regenerate damaged tissue, it will cannibalize your muscle mass, and that takes longer." That said, he quickly started putting sliced fruit, yogurt, and whey protein powder into a blender. Looking at Cameron, he asked, "Would you like one?"

At her nod, Duncan added more to the blender. "How potent is your healing ability?" Cameron asked.

"You've seen it yourself," Duncan said calmly. "We can heal from fatal bullet wounds in minutes. Cuts that would normally require stitches heal up in seconds. I've never tried this, but I'm told if someone cuts a limb off and we reattach it in time, we can even heal from that—though if we lose the arm, it won't regenerate.

"Just about anything—except decapitation, of course," Duncan said.

"This is why that guy had a sword. He wanted to cut my head off?" John asked.

"Yep. And that's why you'll learn how to use a sword," Duncan said.

"But I don't want to decapitate anyone," John insisted.

"Other Immortals will come for your head whether or not you want to or not," Duncan insisted. "And they'll generally be using something nice and long and sharp, like a sword."

A troubled look came over Cameron's face as John asked, "But why? I've never even seen the guy, what's he got against me?"

"Probably nothing," Duncan said. "But when an Immortal takes a head, he gets his Quickening. That lightning that blasted through you after Cameron swung that sword," he explained. "It makes you more powerful. And some Immortals get addicted to the rush," he noted. "How did it feel to you?" he asked, observing John carefully.

"It just hurt. And I saw … things he'd done. Horrible things," John said. "He wasn't a very nice guy."

"Yes," Cameron said emotionlessly. "He killed for pleasure. I saw him slice open a man's chest and desecrate the body by pulling out his lungs."

"The blood eagle," Duncan muttered as he looked sharply at Cameron. "You saw these visions too?" he asked.

Cameron looked at him oddly. "Yes. Is this unusual?"

"Well, yeah. Generally, the Quickening goes to the nearest Immortal—which is usually the one who did the … decapitating, but not always. That's how I knew you might be different from the average human. It shouldn't have touched you, but it did.

Frowning thoughtfully, he asked, "Cameron, how strong are you? How much weight can you generally lift?"

"I am capable of lifting up to 2,138 pounds from a resting position on the ground," Cameron replied. "Why?"

"If you absorbed part of a Quickening, I'm just wondering if you got any stronger as a result. It might be worth looking into," Duncan said. "Anyway, drink up. This should hold you until I get lunch on the table. And then you," he said, pointing at John, "need a shower. Towels are in the cabinet right outside the bathroom."

Cameron watched as John gathered his street clothes and went into Duncan't bathroom to shower and change. As soon as the door shut behind him, Cameron turned to Duncan, an intent look in her normally trusting brown eyes. "You said other Immortals would come to try to kill John," she said.

Duncan nodded as he took out a few hunks of cheese and began shredding them. "A lot of us," he said, motioning to himself to show that he was referring Immortals in general, "occupy our time by trying to get to rediscover the world as it evolves. Meeting new people, falling in love, learning new things, whatever might help us stay connected with life. We fight only when we have to: for survival, or revenge, or justice.

"But some Immortals get addicted to the Game. They love the thrill of the hunt. The pursuit, the combat. Most of all, they get addicted to the Quickening and the power it brings. They actively seek out heads to take," he said. "If John keeps a low profile, most Immortals will leave him alone, but the hunters will just see him as easy prey. Sometimes, I'll go years without a challenge—or even seeing another Immortal. But sometimes, they'll just cluster up and I'll have one every week, it seems like."

"I will hunt down other Immortals first, then," declared Cameron resolutely as a look of surprise appeared on Duncan's face. "The best way to ensure John's safety is to take a proactive approach and eliminate all potential threats."

"No!" Duncan blurted out, panicked. "You can't!"

At Cameron's inquisitive stare, Duncan stammered, "It'd draw too much attention. If Immortals started involving others in the game, then everyone would start to do it. One-on-one fights are already hard to keep a secret from everybody. Imagine what would happen if they turned into melees or full scale brawls and battles. Humans would hunt us all down, and John would be exposed!"

"Oh," said Cameron, her face going blank. "Thank you for explaining."

Relieved, Duncan started chopping vegetables as he asked, "Besides. By the time I'm done with him, John will be able to take on his own challenges just fine on his own, don't you worry."

Cameron looked down. "And then he will no longer need me to protect him," she said softly.

As John showered, he was amazed at how good he actually felt. There was a point in right at the beginning where his muscles had seized up with soreness, but it passed quickly and now he actually found himself alert, more energized, and relaxed. As he walked out, towel draped around his neck, he overheard Cameron's last remark. Frowning slightly, he walked up to the kitchen counter.

Pretending he hadn't heard anything, he said, "So. What's for lunch?"

"Quiche a la Macleod," Duncan said proudly. "With cheese, broccoli, and smoked salmon."

"Quiche?" John asked, doubtfully.

"Yes, quiche," Duncan said sternly. "What's the problem?"

"Isn't that … kind of … you know, 'euro'?" John said as he motioned with his hands to indicate air quotes, though he had originally intended to use the word "girly" instead.

Duncan looked at him flatly. "And what's wrong with that? I am from Scotland, you know. That's part of Europe."

"No!" John. "That's not what I meant. I meant that quiche is kind of girly. I mean, well, don't they say 'real men don't eat quiche'?"

Now both Cameron and Duncan were staring at him dangerously, and John started to sweat and wither under the combined weight of their gazes.

"Erm, that is, I mean, uh … Quiche! Yum! Sounds delicious! Can't wait to try some!" John said, forcing a brittle brightness into his voice.

"That's what I thought you said," Duncan said as he began beating some eggs together. "Honestly," he said, looking at Cameron, "HE's going to lead humanity?" And he turned away to the stove, shaking his head.

Cameron stared at John a little longer before she let a small smile grace her beautiful face. She reached over and punched him lightly in the arm before turning to watch Duncan complete his cooking.

* * *

Author's Note:

"Uncle Pukey" is a variant of a 'friend' that frequently visits people who do an intense workout regimen known as "Crossfit." I highly recommend it.

The "blood eagle" was, according to some historians, something that Vikings actually used to perform--usually to criminals, but sometimes as an act of torture.

For those too young to remember, "Real Men Don't Eat Quiche" was the name of a book published in the 1980s that satirized cliched, stereotypical images of masculinity and manliness.

Finally, thanks to all who have read and reviewed this and other stories I wrote! Much appreciated ...


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of lunch was dominated by lighter topics of discussion. Duncan asked John about school and debated the pros and cons of various types of firearms with Cameron. John, in turn, asked about historical periods Duncan had actually lived through, particularly wartime eras. At one point, the discussion got around to music, at which point Duncan revealed an episode from the early 1960s.

"No way," John exclaimed. "You partied with Sinatra?!"

"You know Sinatra?" Duncan asked, surprised.

"I was in a few foster homes as a kid. One of my foster dads was a huge fan, and he got me into the Chairman," John admitted. "So what was he like?"

"Evil," Duncan said matter-of-factly. "One night of drinking with that man gave me the absolute worst hangover of my life. And that's saying something, since I'm an Immortal, I'm Scottish, and I used to be friends with Oscar Wilde." He grinned.

Soon, the meal ended, and it was agreed that, barring any unusual circumstances, John and Cameron would come after school each day for training for the next three months, and then every other day for the six months afterward.

One afternoon about a month later, John stood in the center of Duncan's training area, feet placed shoulder width apart, left leg forward, with his hands in a basic guard position. His legs were trembling with the strain—he had been holding the position for 14 minutes and 50 seconds, striving to project calm and keep his breathing deep and even.

Ten seconds later, a tiny beep was heard, and on either side of him, Duncan and Cameron came up out of identical positions.

"Tell me again," John asked dubiously as he walked around the room trying to shake some feeling back into his quads, "what this has to do with fighting?"

Duncan looked at him for a few seconds. "John. You realize that for the most part, you're always going to look the way you do, right? You'll never age, you're not going to grow any more. That means that you will always be slightly built relative to your opponents, and compared to a Terminator, you'll be at an even greater disadvantage in terms of strength, power, and mass."

John nodded as Duncan continued. "The beginning calisthenics we started you with were all about putting a good base level of functional strength into your body." John nodded again.

"This stance holding is fundamental to taking what power you have in your body and maximizing its application. Here, let me demonstrate," he said. He grabbed to large padded targets, tossing one to Cameron and one to John. "Hold these on your chest and brace yourselves," he said. "Ready?"

At John's nod, Duncan walked up close to John, standing directly across from him and extending his arm straight out until it touched the pad. He pulled his hand back a fraction of an inch, and with what looked to be an imperceptible flick of his wrist, he drove his fist into the pad. John went flying back 20 feet. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed.

"Cameron, your turn," Duncan said. Again, he walked up to her and repeated the demonstration. Unlike John, Cameron was ready for the concussive force, but even so, she was forced to take two steps back, and the surprise showed in her face. "Do you see what I did?" he asked her as he walked over the pull John to his feet.

Cameron thought for a second. "Your power delivery is far more mechanically efficient," she recited. "Scans indicate an unusually high degree of efficiency in the alignment and coordinated firing of your skeleton, musculature, fascia, ligaments and tendons, resulting in a significant increase in aggregate energy at the point of contact."

"Did you get that?" Duncan asked, only half understanding what Cameron had said himself. "You're never going to be as strong as Cameron. So you really have to work on maximizing what power you have at your command. This stance training teaches your body to align itself without conscious thought. Everything else that I teach you from a technique standpoint—it all follows from this training."

As John got back into position, he looked over. "So. I never age, huh?"

Duncan smirked. "If you ever want to buy beer, kid, you're going to have to learn how to apply makeup to make yourself look older. But hey, on the other hand, you'll never have to worry about looking like Cameron's grandpa or some dirty old man!"

Cameron looked over. "John is not dirty," she agreed. "He keeps himself very clean," she noted.

"No, Cam, not that kind of dirty. More like … perverted, or lecherous," John said.

"Oh. Thank you for explaining," she said. "I agree that it is good that you will continue to maintain your present appearance. I like the way you look," she said guilelessly. Duncan's workout regimen had transformed John's body into one corded with wiry, compact muscle and gristle, and as Cameron looked him up and down openly, John and Duncan both looked visibly uncomfortable.

"Anyway, to get back to this," Duncan coughed out, "Here's the progression of your training: first, make your body powerful. Then, teach your body to move and deliver power with maximum efficiency and minimum waste. Next, we work on footwork and positioning skills, reflex drills, and then," he said, "we spar."

Over the next month, John would benefit from Duncan's centuries of fighting experience. Duncan had traveled the world watching and learning from some of the finest fighters who had ever lived, and now he transmitted the training to John. Mobility training from the baguazhang system combined with the effortless flow of Aikido, aggressive blasting and trapping of wing chun, the anglework of Escrima, the timing and rhythm of boxing, the raw power of Hung Ga and Muay Thai—all of these arts were distilled into their most efficient elements, and gradually poured into the future leader of the Resistance.

After Duncan drove them home one evening after training, John turned to Cameron. "Would you like to go for a walk? I don't want to go inside just yet."

Cameron nodded and threaded her arm through his. It was becoming a bit of a habit, one that he liked—the one way they could spend time together without Derek scowling at them or his mother making him feel awkward.

After a few minutes spent strolling in a comfortable silence—one thing John loved about Cameron was that she didn't feel the need to fill up silences with meaningless conversation—John asked, "So. What do you think about Duncan? Think this training is doing any good?"

Not looking at him, she replied, "Duncan seems like he is teaching you many useful things, and I am happy about that." Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around herself.

"You don't sound all that happy about it," John observed, looking at her. "In fact, you seem downright stressed about something."

"I do not get stressed," Cameron insisted. At John's look, she relented. "I am merely concerned about my place in your life."

"What do you mean, 'your place in my life'?" John asked, confused. "You know how I feel about you. Nothing's changed."

"You are immortal, now, John. Terminators can't kill you unless they know the trick. And now Duncan is teaching you be a great warrior and fighter," she noted. "What use do you have for a bodyguard?"

"You think that's why I hang around with you all the time? Because you can protect me?" John asked, incredulously. "I love you, that's why I want you around and in my life. I probably need less protecting than I did before, but I need you more than I ever did.

"You're more to me than what you can do, Cam," John said, coming to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. "You're … you. You're someone I like spending time with, enjoy talking to and holding hands with and laughing with.

"Now that we know I can live indefinitely, I need you more, not less!" John said. Drawing her close and looking into her eyes, he said, "I've always hated the fact that I couldn't have a normal life, that I had this supposedly great destiny ahead of me, fated to fight in a terrible war and see so much death. Now for the first time, I can see a future after all that. A future that doesn't involve General Connor or Skynet—the possibility of a real life. But it'll only be a life worth having if you're in it.

"Being an Immortal means I'll have even more time that I can spend with you," John said. "I don't know how Duncan handles being alone. But if I had to live for hundreds of years and I didn't have you, I'd be absolutely miserable—and bored. Don't ever think I don't need you, Cam--in fact, you're probably going to have to put up with me for a lot longer than you originally planned for. But don't ever think that your ability to fight is all that you are to me either."

A shy smile appeared on Cameron's face as she looked at him, one finger stroking down his cheek. "You're telling the truth," she said, wonder in her voice.

"Of course I'm telling the truth," John said, irritated as he realized she had just scanned him. "Geez, I thought we were clear on how much I love you. How many times do I have to say it?"

"I do not know how human girls feel about it," Cameron replied. "But I do not think that you could ever say it enough times to me. At least once a day would be nice. More would be better," she suggested, looking at him hopefully.

"Does this count?" John asked, grinning as he kissed her.

* * *

Author's note:

First, thanks for all the comments, I appreciate them. I'm still feeling out where the overall plot is going, but hopefully it'll be worth your while to read it.

Also: Duncan's power demonstration is based off of the famous "one inch punch," a skill emphasized by the wing chun system of Chinese martial arts and first demonstrated in the U.S. by Bruce Lee (footage available on youtube). All other arts described here, as well as their training methods, are true to life and accurate.


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next few weeks, John found himself training with Duncan on a daily basis, rushing home for a quick dinner, taking part in various Skynet-related operations and raids, and then-to top it all off-coming home to study and do his homework. Though he was grateful that almost all of it involved spending time with Cameron, it wasn't what he would call "quality time" alone with her. Plus, Immortal or not, he needed sleep.

One Thursday afternoon, John and Cameron were walking to Duncan's home for their regular training session when John felt that familiar spike of pain in his head that he had come to realize signified the nearby presence of another Immortal. From regular contact with Duncan, he had gotten used to the sensation, and because he assumed that it was just Duncan, he was surprised when his eyes fell on a tall, attractive woman glancing around anxiously, one hand slipping inside her coat.

As their eyes met, both John and the woman relaxed visibly. As an impish smile graced her face, the woman brought both hands out into the open to show that they were empty. John nodded politely. As he was taught, he introduced himself and his intentions. Or, rather, he started to: "I'm John. Just passing throu"

Before the word was completely out of his mouth, Cameron had drawn a gun and charged at the woman. "Shit! Cam!" he called as he scrambled after her, just barely able to reach her and pull her back before she could open fire. The stranger clearly had reflexes and drawn back in alarm. "Wait," he called. "I'm sorry about that! She didn't mean anything!" But the woman had retreated and turned the corner, the sensation of her presence fading as she moved away. Sighing, he let a little exasperation show in his voice.

"What was that, Cam?" he asked, irritated. She returned his stare blankly. "She might have been a threat. She could have challenged you," she said matter-of-factly before she looked away.

"Didn't seem like it to me," he said. "She was smiling, she had both her hands in the open, and her posture was relaxed. You saw it, Cam"

"She still might have been a threat," Cameron insisted.

"This isn't an op, Cameron. If she had issued a challenge, it was still my responsibility to answer it. Remember? Besides, I know I'm not there yet, but I'm not completely helpless, you know," he joked, nudging her lightly with his elbow affectionately.

She didn't react. "Uh oh," John said. "I get the feeling something's wrong. Everything OK with you?" he queried, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, John," Cameron replied. "When I realized that you were looking at another Immortal, even though I did not actually see a threat, I couldn't control myself. I just had to make sure you were safe. I will try to do better."

John looked at her. "Oh well. If we see that woman again, you can apologize to her. No harm done. But Cam, if I'm going to be fighting a war someday, you'll have to get used to me being in danger," he said seriously. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "S'OK, Cam, I know you meant well"

A bit later, they arrived at Duncan's. John immediately felt the familiar buzz/spike in his head of another Immortal, only this time, it was stronger. As they exited the elevator, John immediately saw why: Duncan had company.

"YOU!" exclaimed the woman they had seen earlier as she hurried stood behind Duncan. "These are the ones, Macleod! That one," she said, pointing at Cameron, "pulled a gun on me!"

Cameron cocked her head and regarded the woman passively as she stepped in front of John.

"Don't just stand there Macleod!" she whispered, theatrical urgency throbbing in her voice, as she peered over his shoulder. "Didn't you hear me? She has a gun"

Curiously, Duncan looked at the woman, then at Cameron, and then back at the woman. Cameron was clearly not going to do anything unless he was provoked. So, winking at John, Duncan said sternly, "Forget it, Amanda. I'm through getting you out of situations that are always entirely your fault in the first place. I don't know what you did to these people, and I don't care." Looking at John, he said, "You want her head? Be my guest. You'd be doing me a favor." And he deliberately stepped away.

"Duncan!" the woman he'd addressed as Amanda gasped, outraged. "I didn't do anything to these people. I don't even know who these two are! You're just going to let them ... them ..." she trailed off as John started snickering and Duncan, the effort of trying not to laugh getting the better of him, started snorting and shaking. "Oh, ha HA, very funny. Who is this?" she said, looking at Duncan as she pointed at John.

"Amanda, this is John. John, this is my very old friend Amanda," Duncan.

"I'm not that old," Amanda said wryly as she came forward and offered her hand.

"John," he replied, shaking her hand. Nodding his head to the right, he added, "And this is my ... this is Cameron."

Cameron walked straight up to Amanda, and standing slightly closer than was necessary, stuck her hand out. "I want to apologize for drawing my weapon prematurely before. I was concerned for John's safety and am sorry if I alarmed you"

Amanda nodded warily, shaking the proffered hand. "No problem!" she said brightly, though she noticed that Cameron was still staring at her. Noticing this, John subtly nudged Cameron as he searched for a way to make small talk. "So, how long have you known Duncan??" he asked.

The two older Immortals glanced at each other before Duncan shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. He's new to all this, I'm still training him." Turning to John, he said, "It's considered kind of rude to ask any questions about age or history around Immortals, John. It's kind of a private thing."

"Sorry," muttered John, blushing. "Awww, how cute, he's blushing!" Amanda gushed, stroking John's arm and beaming at him. Of the four people in the room, she was the only one who didn't notice Cameron's eyes narrow.

"Amanda!" Duncan called, the exasperation slipping in his voice with the ease of a habit that had endured for decades, if not longer. "Whhaaat?" Amanda said, a lilt in her voice, looking back, then noticing Cameron. "Oh!" she said, surprised. "Sorry, sometimes it's just a reflex. I didn't mean anything by this, scout's honor."

"I do not believe you are a scout," Cameron noted, confused. "You are far too old to be a girl scout and the wrong gender to be a boy scout"

At the subsequent awkward silence, Amanda said, "So. You're Duncan's student, huh? You're lucky, you know - he's one of the best in the Game, and he's ... well, let's just say that Duncan Macleod's sense of honor is becoming a kind of clich▌ among us. I hope I'm not interrupting," she said.

"Actually," Duncan said, "John and Cameron were here for a workout. You're just in time to help"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to get in the way," Amanda said, hurriedly. "I'll just go and meet up with you later, Duncan"

"I don't think so," Macleod said, smoothly gliding over to put himself between her path to the elevator. "I could really use your help, and it probably wouldn't hurt for you to review some basics too"

* * *

There was much whining and threatening and cajoling involved, but eventually Amanda agreed to join the other three in the training area. Going to a weapons rack, Duncan quickly selected four wooden practice swords-bokken-and distributed them.

"Today," Duncan announced professorially, "we'll work the same positioning drills, but with broken rhythms. Let's pair off. John, you're with Amanda, and I'll work with Cameron"

"Macleod?" Amanda asked curiously.

"Yes"

"Why are you teaching Cameron? She's not Immortal," she noted.

Cameron started to answer, only to fall silent at a gesture from Duncan. "John asked me to train her as well," he said simply. "She's around him a lot, and he wants her to learn how to defend herself, too."

"Huh," Amanda said, shrugging as she turned back to John as they began to work together.

As the hour wore on, they switched off, with John working with Cameron while Duncan worked with Amanda, and then one final rotation that paired Amanda with Cameron. Immediately, Amanda found herself fascinated. While John's technique had clearly advertised for anyone who knew what to look for that he was the student of Duncan Macleod, it was also clear that John had his own ideas of combat-a curious mix of cunning and strategy combined with an admirable, nearly successful effort to master his own fear. There was no doubt that John was already a highly competent combatant who would eventually become a master swordsman.

But Cameron boasted a technique that was clearly and uncannily a precise duplicate of Duncan's -- the same rhythms, timing and tiny idiosyncrasies. Not just this, but Cameron put precisely the same amount of power into her strokes as Duncan, which was surprising, as Duncan was a larger, heavier male who regularly engaged in intense workouts, while Cameron had the slender, willowy body of a classically trained dancer.

Amanda decided to test things out a little, swinging a little harder and putting more power and venom into the drill than was strictly warranted--and more than she could safely control. Cameron matched the extra power with no problems, allowing her blade to match precisely with the first and second stroke, before taking advantage of Amanda's overcommitment. The exchange ended with Amanda leaning forward trying not to fall over as Cameron stood to the side with the point of her simulated blade placed gently but precisely on Amanda's jugular.

As Cameron stepped back, Amanda straightened up, eyes narrowed. "Nobody gets that level of skill in that short a time," she said. "You're as good as Duncan is--and you're stronger, too." Glancing at Duncan and John, who both wore vaguely panicked expressions, she said, "Oh, come on. I can keep a secret. There's something different about her, and I want to know what it is."

John piped up. "Amanda, no offense, but ... we just met you. I'll admit that Cameron's a little different than the average girl on the street, but can we just leave it at that? She's gifted, and she can be trusted, and that's all we have to say on that right now"

"Sure!" Amanda replied cheerily. "I know how important secrets are to people, and you're right-you just met me. No worries," she said, waving them airily away.

"Thanks," John said, relieved. The training continued for another half hour before Duncan called a halt. "OK!" he called. "Time for some kettlebell work!" Amanda and John groaned simultaneously, then grinned at each other. Amanda spoke up. "Nope. Uh uh. No way, absolutely not," she declared adamantly. "You have your lines, Macleod, and I have mine, and this is it: the only Russian things I believe in lifting are bottles of vodka and spoonfuls of caviar. "And," she announced. "Cameron is clearly more than strong enough as it is, so she's not going to be joining you either"

"What?" Duncan asked.

"Cameron has a new priority. The girls," Amanda declared, "are going shopping"

"What?" Duncan repeated again, stupidly.

"Shopping," Amanda said. "No offense, darling, but your clothes are ... well ... completely inadequate."

"My clothes fit me perfectly and are fully functional," Cameron said, puzzled. "They allow freedom of movement, provide camouflage in urban environments and are reinforced to survive the rigors of combat. These," she added, pointing to her pants, "are made of the toughest ripstop fabric currently available."

Shaking her head mournfully, Amanda said, "Oh, that's just so sad. I absolutely insist you come with me. You need help and you need it now. Macleod, shut it," she added in response as Duncan began to object once again. "This is a girl thing. Butt out."

Duncan managed to utter, "But ..." before Amanda sidled over to him and draped herself around his form. "Don't worry," she promised liltingly. "I'll bring her back in one piece, I'll make a stop at the sexy underwear store, and then ... you and I will have some catching up time"

Duncan coughed and blushed a deep red. As he tried to recover, Amanda had walked up to Cameron, took her by the arm, and said, "Come on. I'll take a quick shower-you don't look like you need one-and we'll be off." And before John, Cameron, or Duncan could say anything else, Amanda had pulled Cameron into the elevator. "Enjoy your kettlebells, boys!" she called as the doors closed.

Duncan looked at John steadily, daring him to say something. John gave Duncan a disappointed look. "You completely lost control of that situation, didn't you."

"I always do when she's involved," Duncan replied, looking like he suddenly felt a headache coming on.


	10. Chapter 10

As they drove toward the city, Cameron looked at Amanda. "I still do not see what is wrong with my choice of clothing," she ventured cautiously. Amanda glanced at her and rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

They pulled up into parking space a few minutes later on the outskirts of lushly landscaped campus with modern, white stone buildings. Looking around, Cameron noted, "This neighborhood does not have many clothing retailers. Shopping is unlikely to be very fruitful in this area," she pointed out.

Grinning at her, Amanda said, "I might have stretched the truth about where we were going when we were at Duncan's."

Cocking her to one side, Cameron said blankly, "You lied to him."

"Not lied, per se, more just ... omitted a few specifics," Amanda hedged.

"You lied," returned Cameron blandly.

"No, I just let him form a misconception about where we were going," Amanda tried again.

"You fibbed, dissembled, deceived, and prevaricated," Cameron said innocently.

"OK! Yes! I lied! Are you happy now?" Amanda admitted, irritated.

"No," Cam replied calmly.

"That was a rhetorical question," Amanda retorted.

After a brief silence, she added, "It's just ... Duncan tends to suck the fun out of things, and I needed someone's help. Someone strong, like you. Besides, you owe me," she added.

"I do not owe you anything," Cameron said firmly. "My only loyalty is to John."

"Well, OK, maybe not 'owe,' per se," Amanda admitted. "But remember when you pulled two very large guns on me earlier today?"

Cameron looked at her. "I apologized for that," she said.

"Yee – es," Amanda drawled. "But this was a rather serious mistake," she pointed out. "I mean, I might have been killed!"

"You would have come back to life," Cameron replied emotionlessly.

"That's … that's not the point! When you point a gun at somebody in error, you need to do more than just say 'I'm sorry,' to make amends!" Amanda protested. "You need to make it up to them! A favor, a friendly gesture of goodwill! Come on, please?" Amanda added, a wheedling tone in her voice.

"Oh," Cameron replied, considering this. "I suppose you're right. Thank you for explaining. I will help you if this does not take too much time," she said, worried about leaving John unprotected for too extended a period of time. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Amanda exclaimed. "Come on, I'll explain on the way. This is going to be so much fun!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Duncan was hopping around in pain, swearing up a storm. At least, John assumed he was swearing. The Scotsman's normally mild accent was now so thick as to be unrecognizable to John's American ears, but he could only assume that if he, too, had distractedly slammed a 96 pound kettlebell-a cast iron cannonball-like weight-into his shins and then dropped in on his foot, he would be swearing as well.

"Uh ... you OK?" John asked tentatively.

More unintelligible Scottish mutterings continued to emanate from Duncan's general direction before he finally composed himself. There might have been a few Spanish, Sanskrit and Japanese curses in there as well, though John was no linguistics expert. "DAMNIT!" Duncan finally swore. "That's it! We're done. Go shower and change, and hurry up, because we're going out."

"Where?" John asked, surprised.

"To find Amanda," he said. "She's up to something. She always is, and the sooner I find out what it is, the sooner I do damage control, and the less painful it's going to be for all of us when it blows up in our faces." And with that, he stalked away into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"Ready?" Amanda asked Cameron as she peered around the corner, looking at security guard station where one watched an old movie on a tiny television screen while the other idly flipped through a well-worn magazine. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled out a tiny transmitter and pushed a button.

Immediately, an alarm could be heard going off in a nearby room. The guards reacted as if they had been shocked, getting up and sprinting out of the room.

A minute later, they returned, grumbling under their breath. Amanda counted to 10, then hit her transmitter again. This time, the alarm that sounded was more distant. Again, the guards sprinted off toward the clanging sound, only to return a bit later.

Amanda repeated this several times, and each time, the guards responded a little more slowly, and each time they grumbled a bit more loudly. The phrases "damn machine," and "stupid computer" and "piece of shit alarm system" were frequently heard. Finally, Amanda hit the button and an alarm went off in a random part of the gallery, but as one guard hauled himself wearily to his feet, the other one pulled him back down.

"Fuck this," he growled as he pulled out a keyboard. "The system's obviously malfunctioning. I'm not sitting here all night listening to that racket." With a few keystrokes, the klanging went silent in mid-ring.

Chuckling, Amanda crept away, beckoning Cameron to follow. Cameron looked puzzled. "I do not understand why you pulled that prank of the security guards," she said.

"It's simple, Cam. I got them to shut off the initial security sensors and the alarm system. Now we can take just about anything we want from here," she said, rubbing her hands gleefully.

"But I don't want anything here," Cameron noted. "And neither John nor Duncan would not approve of stealing."

"You know, we don't have to get their permission for everything we do, Cameron. Besides, we're not stealing," Amanda said. "We're just picking up something that belongs to me," she explained as she walked purposefully through the darkened halls.

Cameron's sensitive eyes scanned ahead, noting the many paintings and works of art that hung from the walls. "You could have just come back during the day to the lost and found," she pointed out.

Amanda laughed gaily. "But this is SO much more fun!" she said. "Besides, I don't think they'd just give it to me. Ah, here we are."

They were standing in a large echoing room full of bronzed sculptures. Amanda walked unerringly toward one statue in particular. "This is the one we want," she said, looking at a smallish statue set on a freestanding open pedestal, surrounded by velvet ropes. "Now here's the plan. You help me disable the alarm …"

But before Amanda could finish, Cameron marched right up to the statue, picked it up and hoisted it onto her shoulder with one arm.

"Or we could just grab it and run," Amanda finished lamely. "By the way, that thing is in excess of 300 pounds!" she whispered, amazed. "How did you …"

"Nevermind, we'll talk about it later. Run!" Amanda hissed, and, not waiting to see if Cameron followed her instructions, she sprinted back down the hall in the direction from which they'd come. Cameron easily followed, catching up to her in a matter of seconds. As they rounded a corner side by side, they both skidded to a halt.

* * *

Unlike many security guards, Jack Rebhorn did not come from a law enforcement or military background. He was merely doing it to earn money and put himself through art school. Plus, the gig gave him the opportunity to spend time alone with some of the greatest masterpieces ever created—a double win situation if he'd ever heard of one.

Jack was intimately acquainted with the works of the great Impressionists, the Cubists, the Modernists, the Post-Modernists, and the Surrealists. What he didn't know was what art thieves were supposed to look like. He certainly didn't expect to see two of him as he exited the men's room, and he definitely never dreamed that they would look like two gorgeous women--one tall, voluptuously curved with a certain feline quality to her, and the other a vision of everybody's dream girl-next-door, withwarm, open trusting eyes and a bewitching, sexy natural pout. Still, despite his surprise, Jack pulled his gun, aiming it at the two of them. "Uh … freeze!" he said with faux authority.

Amanda fairly shimmied as she walked toward him slowly, but without hesitation. "I don't think so," she purred, "I don't think that's what you really want me to do, is it?"

"Uh, what?" Jack stammered as he turned his head to stare at her. He didn't seem to know where to look, switching from her pelvis to her chest to her face in a shaky cycle over and over again. Dimly, he realized the other one was starting to approach as well. "I mean, stop right there!" he called, voice cracking slightly.

Cameron reached behind her with her free hand and pulled out a gun.

"N-n-no! Stay back!" he cried, stepping back from the two, eyes darting back and forth between the two women. Adrenaline and arousal competed for space in his veins, making him slow … and clumsy.

Which is why he stumbled as he backed away from the two women. And as he did, his gun went off.


	11. Chapter 11

John braced himself as Duncan yanked the steering wheel hard left, pulling a U-turn into the nighttime Beverly Hills traffic. A squeal of horns followed them as they left the jewelry district. Judging from sound of Duncan grinding his teeth, John knew better than to comment on the driving. Instead, he asked, "So. They weren't at Tiffany's, Cartier, Van Cleef & Arpels or Harry Winston. Where to now?"

"Amanda is fairly predictable in her tastes. If it's not jewelry, it's fine art," Duncan replied as he maneuvered toward the highway. "You know where the most obvious target is," he answered.

"You mean …" John started to say, "No way … Is she really good enough to rob _that_ place?" he asked incredulously.

* * *

Of the three people in the gallery after Jack's gun went off, only two were truly surprised by what happened: Amanda, and Jack. Cameron, who had been hit squarely in the upper chest near where her collarbone would be, was forced to take a slight step backwards after the impact, and she had almost dropped the statue before she firmly tightened her grip on it. Still, while there was clearly blood oozing from the wound and a glint of metal could clearly be seen showing through her flesh, she seemed largely undisturbed by what had just happened.

It was only her long years of experience that kept Amanda from inadvertently screaming Cameron's name in alarm—and from freezing up from the same adrenaline overload that had taken hold of Jack. Still, she reached forward involuntarily for a second before collecting herself. Looking at the man still sitting on his backside with his gun in his hand and his jaw hanging loosely open, she reached down and socked him hard in the jaw, knocking him out cleanly. "Sorry, sweetie," she muttered apologetically.

"What …" began Amanda before closing her mouth. "How …" she tried again before finally settling on, "Are you OK? Are you in pain?" Even Duncan, about as tough as they came, would have felt the pain of a collarbone injury, she realized. And that meant that Cameron was something more than just John's girlfriend tagging along for some free martial arts lessons, she realized.

At Cameron's assurances that she was unharmed, she shook her head a few times to make herself focus. "All right, then," Amanda said. "That shot will bring the police here even faster, and I don't think either of us want that to happen. Let's run."

* * *

Duncan supposed he should have been relieved to see he had figured out Amanda's location, and he was, to a certain extent. But that didn't stop him from fuming. As he tried to jimmy the lock on her car door, John put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," the younger Immortal said.

Taking the tool from Duncan's hand, John wiggled a few times and popped the lock. Immediately, an alarm went off, but reaching in with a deft flick of his wrists, John quickly silenced it. At Duncan's unspoken question, John explained, "I spent quite a few years in the foster system, and quite a few more needing to get away in a hurry from large scary robots without actually owning a car." He smiled caustically. "Well, I got you in. What now?"

"We're going to move the car," Duncan said, an evil smile gracing his lips. "I want to give Amanda a little surprise."

* * *

The J. Paul Getty Museum, located in Santa Monica, was designed by noted architect Richard Meier to provide a natural, serene space where visitors could enjoy a variety of great artistic masterpieces in the classic Western tradition. Although originally budgeted for 350 million, by the time the museum and the adjoining buildings on the Getty Center campus were completed, construction costs had spiraled to more than 1.3 billion. The result of this overrun was a campus of incomparable beauty that boasts state-of-the-art security technology—and a very limited budget to pay actual security staff.

As a result, Amanda and Cameron were able to make their way out of the museum without being slowed by any additional encounters with underpaid security staff. Nevertheless, time was of the essence—the police were certain to arrive any minute, now, and so it was that when the two women crested a hill and looked down to where Amanda had parked her car, Amanda's immediately reaction was to yell:

"SHIT! Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," she moaned. "This CANNOT be happening. Where the hell is the car? Tell me this happening--please tell me this isn't happening!"

Cameron tilted her head. "This isn't happening," she repeated dutifully, only to receive a glare from Amanda.

"Not helping, Cameron," she growled as she tried to think. Looking around, she had to decide—head toward the parking lots and hope that even at this late hour, there would be a car to steal—or take cover in the woods in the distance.

"Eenie, meenie, miney … oh screw it," Amanda muttered. "Come on," she told Cameron as she led the way toward the woods. A few yards later, she stopped short, as if hearing a noise that nobody else could hear. Following close behind her and unable to stop her momentum in time, Cameron crashed into her, her heavy frame knocking the Immortal to her knees. As Amanda stood up, she looked and from behind a tree, a familiar silhouette appeared—tall, male, wearing a familiar trench coat. Next to him, wearing a biker jacket and a slightly bemused expression, was John.

"Amanda!" Duncan ground out between clenched teeth. "Whatever that is that Cameron's carrying, you're going to put it back. Right now."

"But it's mine!" Amanda whined.

"Noooo," Duncan insisted, shaking his head in negation. "No it's not. That is a priceless masterpiece, sculpted by the great artist Auguste Rodin, and it belongs to the Getty Museum."

"It was mine before it ever belonged to the museum!" hissed Amanda. "I'm not putting it back, and I'm not leaving it behind. I have a better claim to it than anybody else ever could!"

"Put it back!" Duncan said, his voice rising as he pointed back toward the museum with one finger.

"What the hell!" John cried as he noticed the bullet hole in Cameron's chest. "Cam! Are you all right? Are you hurt?" Without waiting for an answer, he stepped closer to peer at the wound more closely in the dark.

"Any damage is superficial and I should be able to fully repair it overnight," Cameron told John, even as the youngest Immortal in the group whirled upon Amanda, suddenly enraged.

"What the fuck did you do," he hissed, the voice coming out strangled with anger and emotion. "What did you drag her into?" he asked, advancing upon her, fury blazing in his eyes.

"Now John," Amanda said, backing up nervously from both Duncan and especially from John. "Calm down, no harm was done … I mean, you heard it yourself, Cameron said the damage was superficial, she's going to be fine, and …"

"Did you know that before you went in?" John asked, his voice suddenly icy and quiet.

"Wh … what?" she asked.

"DID. YOU. KNOW. SHE. COULD. TAKE. A. BULLET. TO. THE CHEST!!" screamed John. "Or did you just drag my … my girlfriend … into an art heist not caring that she could be killed!!"

"But she wasn't killed!" Amanda protested. "I mean, look at her! She has metal underneath her skin! I don't know what she is, but she's heavier than a girl her size should be, she's stronger than any girl I've ever met, what the hell is she anyway? Oof!" she added as John suddenly backfisted her, enraged.

"What the hell is she?" John repeated. "What the hell is she?? She's human, she's the girl that I love, and she's not invulnerable!!" he snarled.

"John," Cameron said, urgency in her voice as she used her free hand to grab his arm and calm him.

"No!" John said, shrugging her arm off. "It doesn't matter that you're more durable than any of us, I don't care that your skeleton happens to be made of coltan and you can shrug off handgun fire as if it's nothing.

"The point is that she didn't know that when she dragged you into this mess! And just because it turned out OK for you doesn't excuse what she did." Turning back to Amanda, he advanced toward her again. "And it's not just about me," he hissed. "You have no idea what you put at risk tonight."

"That's enough, John," Duncan said, pulling him back. "Everyone needs to calm down."

"We should leave here immediately," added Cameron. "The police will arrive in approximately 97 seconds."

John looked at Cameron for a moment and nodded tersely, barely able to his emotions.

"This way," Duncan said, motioning toward where he had hidden his car.

Moments later, they were gone.

* * *

Author's Note:

It should go without saying that I don't actually know anything about breaking into museums of any kind and even less about breaking into the Getty Museum (which I've never even been to.) A loose version of how Amanda breaks in is based off of an X-men fanfic written by a certain Valerie J called "Blind Sight," available on this site. I highly recommend it.

I should note that I do not ever believe in hitting a woman, even one as infuriating as Amanda, except in the context of a martial arts training session. John will be making amends for that at some point in future chapters.

Once again, thanks to all who read and especially thank you to all who reviewed.


	12. Chapter 12

As Duncan headed back to his place, the four of them did their best not to look nervous every time a police car drove past, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Perhaps only Cameron succeeded in fully blanking out her expression. Though John had clearly gotten a hold of his emotions, his grinding teeth, flaring nostrils and narrowed eyes gave evidence that he was still angry.

Still engrossed in his thoughts, John was surprised when Duncan pulled up at his home and turned around to look at him and Cameron. "Everyone's a little too emotional right now, and it's been a long night," he said. "Go calm down, get some sleep, and we'll figure out what to do tomorrow when you come by."

Slowly, John allowed Cameron to help him out of the car. As he absently headed toward the front door, he was stopped by a gentle tug on his arm. Cameron was looking at him and she hesitantly told him, "I would like to talk to you."

He looked at her for a long moment, softening his expression unconsciously as he reached up to caress her cheek. "Sure, Cam. Want to go for a walk?" She nodded.

After a while, he asked, "So. What's on your mind?" Cameron looked at him.

"It … distresses me the way you struck Amanda when we were at the museum," she admitted.

John waited for more, but when it appeared Cameron wasn't about to say anything more, his head drooped a little and he replied, "I can see that. And I can guess at why, but would you like to tell me?"

More silence followed, the only sounds being their footsteps and the distant traffic. "I think there are several reasons," she finally said. "But they are all based on the fact that you became so enraged that you lost control of yourself.

"That is a dangerous indulgence for a fighter and even more dangerous for a commander," she declared. "Not just because it can lead you to take unnecessary risks and make rash decisions. But because it might endanger you from your own men.

"The future you—General Connor—was subject to quite a few assassination attempts. And not all of them were carried out by Skynet terminators," she said. John's eyes widened as he realized what she was saying, but Cameron continued on, determined to spell it out. "You were feared by almost all of your men, and some of them actually hated you more than they hated the machines.

"The first time I stopped one of your own soldiers from killing you, you were shocked that he was human," she said. "But when I asked you why you didn't execute him for treason in wartime, you told me that you probably deserved it."

Pulling him to a standstill, Cameron stared into his eyes. "I don't like it when you are put into danger. Even when you're the one doing it." She refused to let him look away until he nodded, then added, "You're too important to me for that."

Turning to continue their walk, John said, "I know I was wrong," he murmured. "I know I owe Amanda a really big apology. And I'm sorry I disturbed you. Can I ask you what else bothered you, though?"

"Isn't that enough?" Cameron asked. "Your own safety might depend on it."

"I'm interested in _all_ your opinions Cam. Not just because you matter to me, but because I trust your judgment," he replied. "If it's something you think, or feel, I'm interested."

They had come to a park, and now John sat down at a bench, motioning for her to join him. "Tell me," he repeated, encouragingly, intently.

"I … this is not logical," Cameron began, then stopped. She tried again. "You were so angry, and I don't know why, but I believe it frightened me. Watching you, I could … imagine that you could get angry enough at me to hit me. I know you couldn't actually damage me by hitting me like that.

"But it would cause me great emotional distress to ever see you that angry and violent toward me," she said, looking downward. "I believe that the human way of saying it is that it would break my heart."

John looked at her for a long while, expressionless. Though she did not detect any signs that he was upset at her, her reading of his vitals showed he was highly distressed. The silence stretched out so long and internally, Cameron felt that she should get up and leave him alone for a while—though she was unwilling to, this late at night.

Suddenly, he spoke, looking away. "I don't like this side of myself, Cameron," he said softly. "I don't like what I did to Amanda. I don't like doing the wrong thing, and I knew it was wrong even as my hand connected.

"But most especially, I don't like the idea that I could hurt you … or scare you … in any way. I'm sorry I disappointed you, and I'm terrified I'll do it again." He looked up, and then he looked at her. "If … if you stay with me, I promise I'll never give you a reason to be afraid of me, or disappointed in me, again. Promise."

She looked at him gravely, then took his hand in hers. "Promise," she repeated firmly. She stood up. "Let's go home. You are tired," she said.

As they walked up the steps of their front door 20 minutes later, they were met by an obviously irritated Sarah Connor. Quickly, John wrapped his arm around Cameron, draping his hand casually down her left shoulder to hide the bullet wound still visible there.

The intimate action only seemed to annoy his mother even more. "Do you know what time it is? Where have you been? Are you all right? Why didn't you call if you were going to be late?" The questions came tumbling out one after another.

John laughed softly, bitterly amused. Tonight, he had met another Immortal, tried to stop the robbery of a major art museum, had his cybernetic girlfriend shot at—and found out something very disheartening about himself. Yet there was his mother, subjecting him to the same normal questions that, all over the city, hundreds of teenaged boys were also hearing from their mothers. This was probably as normal as it would ever get for him, he realized. "Sorry mom," he said tiredly. "We should have called, but everything's OK. Just lost track of time after training." And he trudged past her into the house.

"Cameron," Sarah called. John and Cameron both stopped, Cameron turning her head to look at Sarah in response. Noticing the slump of her son's shoulders, she asked, "Is he all right?"

"John discovered he is not perfect tonight," Cameron said nonchalantly. "Now he is tired and needs to sleep."

And they continued into the house, leaving Sarah mutter to wonder just what had really happened that evening.

* * *

The ride back to Duncan's place was also awkward and silent. Amanda was sure she could feel the disapproval radiating from Duncan in waves, pulsing, surging, and vibrating. So she tried to make herself as still and as small as possible as she tried to figure out how she was going to pacify him this time.

"How's the jaw?" Duncan asked, suddenly, looking at her with concern.

"Hmm?" Amanda asked, startled from her thoughts.

"Your jaw," Duncan repeated, gesturing toward the part in question. "Where John hit you. Does it still hurt?"

She reached up to rub it gently. "Actually, I'd forgotten about it until you mentioned it again just now. It's fine, Duncan, nothing to worry about."

"Really!" she protested as she saw him continually glancing over as he drove.

"I'm sorry about that," Duncan said finally. "I'm still angry at you," he said emphatically, "but I'm sorry about your jaw."

"Why?" Amanda said, startled. "You didn't hit me!"

"Hmm," Duncan grunted, noncommittally.

"I'm a big girl, Macleod. I can take a punch—though I admit the kid's got a pretty good one. You taught him well," she teased.

"I didn't teach him to hit women," Duncan ground out.

"Duncan," Amanda admonished. "Men seldom need to be 'taught' how to hit women. Remember? The idea that it was wrong to beat your wife or belt your girlfriend or slug a serving wench is a fairly modern concept relative to how long we've been around," she said, gesturing between herself and Duncan.

"Plenty of men have tried to hit me over the years, and some of have succeeded," she said lightly, masking the memory of all those times her head had snapped back, all the times her cheek bone had had to knit together, trying to hide her dismay at the realization that it had happened so often through the centuries she had lost count of how many times it had been.

"I never did," Duncan said quietly.

Amanda looked up, a soft twinkle in her eyes. "I know," she said warmly. "I'm very aware of that. You never, ever have. Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod," she teased gently. "Ever the romantic, ever the gentleman, ever the boy scout." She reached out and poked his side playfully. "Oh, what a man among men you are," she proclaimed theatrically as she stroked his biceps and pretended to faint away from ardor, hamming it up to mask her emotion.

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Duncan, a slight smile gracing his lips as he batted her hand away. "Stop that, I'm driving."

"Not any more you're not," Amanda said as Duncan's home came into view. She kept quiet as Duncan parked the car, but as they exited, she said, "Duncan?"

At his look, she continued as she headed into the house. "I know I infuriate you sometimes—a lot, actually. And I know that might make somebody think that I take you for granted. But I really do treasure what a good man you are and what a good friend you've been to me. You know that, right?"

Duncan shrugged, embarrassed.

"Duncan?" Amanda asked again, this time with a telltale lilt to her voice. He looked at her.

"You know what Cameron is, or what's different about her, don't you?"

Duncan nodded. "What did John mean when he said I had no idea what I'd put at risk?" she asked. "He looks like a teenager—and since he's still in training, I'd guess he actually _is_ still a teenager, but he talks and walks as if he already has too much on his shoulders. He's not just another fledgling that you've taken under your wing, is he?"

Duncan looked at her for a long moment. He shook his head. "No. He's not just any other Immortal, and Cameron's not like other girls. They both might turn out to be very important to all of our futures someday. But any more than that—that's their story to tell, I'm sorry."

"Duncan," Amanda whined. "Come on," she wheedled.

"No," Duncan said firmly. "Or have you forgotten I'm still angry at you."

"No you're not," she teased, as she threaded her arm through his as they walked to the door. "You've forgiven me already."

Rolling his eyes, he grudgingly admitted, "Maybe. But I shouldn't have, and either way, I'm not telling you what you need to know. Your insatiable need to know everybody's secrets is just going to have to wait. Come on, I'll whip up a quick pasta and crack open a bottle of that wine you love so much to hold you over until you can ask them."

"That 1964 Rothschild Bordeaux??" she squealed. "Ooooh, Macleod, you _are_ a man among men!" As he shut the door, her giggles could be heard, cascading through the walls.


	13. Chapter 13

Duncan surprised John and Cameron the next afternoon as they exited the front doors of their high school. "Duncan," John said cautiously. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we'd talk a little on our way to training," Duncan replied, pushing himself upright from the casual leaning position he'd taken against his car as he waited. "About what happened last night," he clarified.

Turning to Cameron, he greeted her in the standard European fashion—a light embrace and a quick kiss to either kiss, leaving John and Cam with confused looks on their faces. But apparently not noticing, Duncan merely pulled keys out of his pocket and asked, "Cameron, would you mind driving my car back and meeting us there? That way John and I can talk as we walk."

Cameron accepted the keys wordlessly and began to turn away agreeably even as John asked, "Hey! How come you let her drive your car and not me?"

"You mean why am I willing to entrust my painstakingly and lovely hand-restored, vintage piece of irreplaceable automotive history to a girl whose actions are typically guided by logic and superior reflexes, and not to you, a teenaged boy who mentioned liking a movie called 'The Fast and the Furious'?" Duncan asked dryly.

"Nevermind," John replied darkly as Cameron got into the driver's seat, started up the engine and put it into gear.

As they turned toward Duncan's neighborhood and began to walk, Duncan thought for a while on how to bring up what disturbed him about the previous night's incident at the museum, but John broke into his thoughts suddenly.

"How difficult," he asked, "is it to apologize to Amanda?"

At Duncan's look, he clarified. "For what I did last night … for hitting her. What will I have to do to make it up to her?"

Duncan chose not to answer directly. "You know, in the old days in China and Japan," he said, "before a martial artist would accept you as his student, there was a formal ceremony in which you had to promise to obey his every wish. You basically agreed to give him total control over your life.

"This wasn't because they were anal retentive or control freaks," Duncan continued. "It was because martial skills were considered serious weapons, and to the public, a student's actions and behavior reflect on the teacher. If a student gets into a fight and wins, it's a credit to his teacher; and if he loses, it's a failure on the part of the teacher. More importantly," he stressed, "if a student behaves badly—if he gets drunk, starts brawls, commits crimes—it is a reflection of the teacher's character. So a teacher wanted some way of safeguarding his reputation before he would agree to accept a student.

"We're not in ancient China, and a lot of those old traditions have been loosened," Duncan noted. "But most martial artists in the know still see it as a truism: these days, if you go to a tournament and a student is an asshole, chances are that his teacher is, too."

John scuffled his feet guiltily as Duncan continued sternly. "I do NOT hit women. Ever. And neither do any of my male students. Understand me?"

"Yeah," John said softly.

"What was that?" Duncan asked sharply.

John straightened up. "Yes, sir," he said respectfully. "Nothing like this will ever happen again."

"Good," Duncan said. "You might want to think about what you did from a practical standpoint as well. If you're going to lead men into battle, you can't afford to act this rashly—from fear, or from rage."

"Fear?" John asked.

"You tell me," Duncan said. "Were you angry that Amanda was thoughtless and irresponsible, or were you scared because you saw Cameron had been shot?"

John was silent. Duncan said, "You don't have to give me an answer. But you should understand what sparked what you did so you can learn to control it. And in the meantime, I think that apologizing to Amanda is a very good idea. Not just because it's the right thing—but because Amanda happens to be one of the best thieves in the world. The day might come when you need to break into a military base or a secured facility, and Amanda's the one who can get you in.

"Don't worry. She'll pout a bit, and then she'll let you off the hook. But she won't hesitate to bring it up to guilt you into helping her in the future." Smiling slightly to lighten the mood, he added, "I'd stock up on aspirin now."

* * *

As she walked into Duncan's home, Cameron saw Amanda working out in the studio, doing what appeared to be a more energetic, flowing version of yoga. Sweat dripped from her face, though she was breathing smoothly and evenly. As she noticed Cameron's entrance, Amanda finished her movement and rolled to her feet smoothly. Awkwardly, she approached.

"Cameron! How's … uh, you know … that?" she said lamely, gesturing toward Cameron's shoulder.

"If you are asking about the bullet I took last night, the damage has been completely fixed," Cameron replied matter-of-factly. "I am fully functional. How are you?" she added for politeness.

"Good!" Amanda said. "Good! So, uh, listen, I wanted to apologize for dragging you on my … little adventure last night. After we dropped you off last night, Duncan told me … I mean, I realized on my own … that I didn't give our expedition very much thought. It was thoughtless of me to get you involved in something illegal like that," she finished hurriedly. In the resulting silence, she felt awkward and took a swig out of her water bottle to cover up her discomfort.

"John and I do many illegal things together," Cameron told her.

Amanda did a spit take in surprise at Cameron's candor, then realized that the girl wasn't necessarily talking about sex. That didn't stop her eyebrows from shooting upwards—an expression that Cameron had learned generally meant she had been unclear or tactless and should clarify her statements.

"We break into private facilities on a regular basis," she supplied helpfully. Or at least she thought she was being helpful. Amanda's eyebrows remained elevated.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Amanda responded, "Ooookay. Well, nevertheless, I still feel I should have thought things through and let you know what I had planned. Honestly, I just wanted to see if I could pry what you and John are hiding out of you in a new environment. Maybe I can make it up to you with a real shopping trip this time? Nothing funny, I promise."

Cameron thought for a moment. "Promise?" she asked shyly, extending her hand to shake.

"Promise," Amanda replied, shaking it—as Cameron scanned her vitals and confirmed her intentions.

* * *

John and Duncan entered the school 20 minutes to find Cameron and Amanda flipping through the pages of the latest issue of Vogue together. Amanda was giggling as Cameron peered intently at the photos and ads in the glossy-paged magazine.

"What are you two doing?" Duncan asked curiously.

"Oh, just girl talk," Amanda replied, still smiling slyly. "Nothing you'd be interested in, unless you've developed a sudden taste for designer clothes, Duncan," she said teasingly.

Duncan grunted as he paused for a second, then headed for the elevator. Seeing that nobody was following, he asked John acerbically, "You going to stare or train today?"

John shook his head to clear it, tearing his gaze away from the curvy, lycra-clad, sweaty form of Amanda and headed to go change too. He ignored Cameron's frown and hurried to the elevator as well.

Ten minutes later, they assembled in the training area. John had changed into board shorts and a tank top, and he stepped onto the mats and proceeded to do some warm-ups as usual. Duncan interrupted him. "John, was there something you wanted to say?" he hinted.

John looked up, nervousness obvious in his eyes, but he mastered his fear and his face went blank momentarily as he did. Straightening up from his crouched position, he walked over to Amanda, who blinked in curious surprise.

Clearing his throat, he began, looking into her eyes. "Yesterday, I hit you out of anger. It was unjustified, and it was wrong. I'm sorry for that. I want you to know that my mother taught me better. Duncan taught me better. And certainly Cameron taught me better than that. So I hope that if you think less of anyone for what I did, you only blame me. If there's some way I can make it up to you, please let me know. It won't happen again."

Amanda looked at him steadily, her expression unreadable, with just a hint of displeasure in her eyes. She let John squirm nervously for a while, then smiled softly. "I'm not saying what you did was right. But I guess I owe you an apology, too. So how about you owe me a favor—and I owe you a favor, and after that, we call it even?"

John nodded guardedly. "Deal," he said.

Duncan said, "Good! Now that we've settled that, John, I want you to hit Amanda."

"Huh?" John asked, startled.

"Sparring," Duncan explained. "Come on, go hit her. Amanda, see what you can do to give him a workout," he challenged.

John and Amanda proceeded to face each other and bumped fists to signal their readiness to begin. Amanda immediately began spiraling in, out, and around John, darting in and out as she launched attacks at random odd angles in a war of attrition and disorientation. Moving like a whirlwind, she delivered blows that stung and had him seeing stars when they connected, though they were obviously delivered with speed rather than one-shot knockout power in mind.

For his part, John took a quieter approach, moving just enough to keep himself squarely facing Amanda as she danced, and backing up just enough to draw her in. His positioning allowed him to slip and dodge her attacks with minimal movement, and he occasionally darted in decisively to cut off her angles of attack, jam her power and throw her away. Though John sometimes landed bodyshots that were able to break her stance and balance, he had scored no telling blows. Soon, Duncan was frowning, though he kept silent.

Suddenly, Amanda caught a glancing blow off of John's temple, and sensing a kill, blasted in with a smashing hammer fist straight down the center toward his nose.

Only he wasn't there. With a simple pivot on his leading leg, John allowed Amanda to blow past him. With her lead leg extended, her entire flank was exposed, and John quickly stepped in, ducking low to avoid a reflexive elbow. He placed one hand against her lead shoulder and the other against her ribcage, and then he let his body uncoil.

The resulting release of power sent Amanda hurtling away, though her reflexes allowed her to easily land on her feet with her guard at the ready. John had kept his position, hands up and facing her, legs slightly bent with his right leg forward and his weight evenly balanced between his right foot and left toe.

Amanda stood up. "Oh, come on!" she cried, exasperated. "Are we sparring or dancing?" Glaring at John, she marched toward him. "What was that? Why didn't you go for the temple strike or the jaw? Why did you pull that butterfly palm?" she demanded.

"What?" John stammered, bewildered.

"You've been holding back throughout this match, doing just enough to keep me at bay, but never following up to finish the fight. What's the matter, little boy, afraid to finish things?" she taunted, jabbing at his chest with her index finger.

"Amanda, I …" John said as he tried to step back.

"Like this," Amanda said, grabbing his wrist and tearing it toward her temple. "Don't just push, hit me. Here. Here. Or here," she said as she directed his palm heel toward her throat, solar plexus and eye socket. John flinched, and Amanda noticed.

"For God's sake, John. This is sparring. You're allowed to hit me in a sparring session. What are you going to do if a female Immortal challenges you? Refuse to fight back? Sparring is supposed to simulate a real fight, and in a real fight, you treat every opponent the same, man or woman," Amanda said, and the voice that came out of her wasn't the flirtatious, wheedling, lilt that she usually used. It was deadly serious, and cold. "You. Destroy. Them. With whatever it takes."

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she muttered. "Honestly. Men. They just don't get it, do they?"

Dryly, Duncan chuckled. "And thus endeth today's lesson."

Amanda swerved to look at him, her eyes demanding an answer. Duncan explained. "I knew he'd hold back. That's why I put you up against him. I wanted to see if he could understand the difference between fighting for his life and hitting a woman gratuitously. John, you're going to be leading men and women into battle one day. And if you win, you'll need to understand the difference between fighting for your survival … and being a bully. One is OK, and the other isn't. Understand?"

"No," Amanda interrupted. "I don't understand. What battle? What are you talking about?"

John looked nervously at Duncan, who wordless shrugged as if to say, "It's your call." A look at Cameron didn't help either—all he saw in her eyes was her trust in his judgment.

At their silence, Amanda said, "Oh, come on. I know I didn't win any points in the trust department by trying to separate Cameron so I could pry it out of her last night, but I can be trusted, really."

Duncan confirmed, "She can. You can trust Amanda with anything …"

Amanda beamed.

"… except your money," Duncan finished. Amanda's smile turned into a glare as he continued impishly, "and your car. Your clothes. Your house. Your wine collection. And anything that isn't nailed down."

"Duncan!" she cried. "That's not true …

"1981, 1852, 1967, 1802 and 1967—again," Duncan said as Amanda clamped her mouth shut.

"Just kidding," Duncan said. "Well … not really. But with the really important things, you can trust Amanda," he confirmed.

Remember Duncan's analysis of Amanda's skillset and his prediction that she would come in handy one day, John made up his mind.

"Maybe you want to sit down," he began …


	14. Chapter 14

Over the next half hour, Amanda listened as John and Cameron took turns describing to her what they knew of the future, and of the role the two of them were expected to play in the coming war. Occasionally, Amanda interrupted the narrative to ask for more details or clarification, but overall, she managed to listen to the whole story with very little in the way of hysteria. When John finished, he and Cameron looked at Amanda, surprised at her level of calm.

"What?" she asked. "I'm supposed to run out of the room screaming in horror and disbelief?"

"That's kind of the reaction we expected, yeah. I mean, it does sound kind of far-fetched, right?" John asked, confused.

"John. In this room are three people who can heal from any injury almost instantly. Two of us are more than 400 years old …"

"Some are even older," coughed Duncan under his breath.

"Shut up Macleod," Amanda said without pause, smacking his shoulder as she continued, "three of us constantly have random people trying to chop our heads off. And John, you're not the only one in this room who's had to live under the weight of some rather high expectations."

"Amanda," Duncan warned, shaking his head, the painful memories flashing through his eyes momentarily before his expression became shuttered.

Looking at Macleod, she continued. "I can see why you're so interested in training this one," she said sympathetically. "It's a chance to give someone the guidance you wish you'd had, isn't it?"

Turning back to those two, she said, "What you just told me might frighten normal people—but nobody here is really normal, are they?"

"For what it's worth, I don't really know that the future's ever completely set. But I'm not sure I like the idea of a nuclear holocaust, either. For one thing, I bet the food would be horrible," she said making a face. "You should let me know if you ever need any help. Duncan, show them my dead drops when you get a chance."

"Dead … what?" John asked.

Rolling his eyes, Duncan looked at Amanda. "Kids these days."

To John, he replied, "Back in the days before the Internet, and e-mail addresses, and cell phones, if you moved around a lot and wanted long-lost friends to be able to find you, you'd set up a dead drop—a secure, no-maintenance-required place where people could leave you messages. In Europe, you can usually open a Swiss bank account and let the bank handle it for you. Swiss banks will be here till the end of time," he said with a smirk.

"Here in the States, you build yourself a little secret compartment in a building that's important enough to be preserved, but not so important as to have high security or traffic," Duncan said. "I personally prefer small town historic churches. Two or three times a year, I make the rounds, checking all of them to see if anyone's looking for me. Obviously, security's important—you only tell people who you really trust where your dead drops are."

"I intend to play a role if this war comes to pass," Amanda said, no trace of her usual sass in her voice. "But I also intend to go have fun until Judgment Day comes. There are a lot of wonderful things to see and do in this world, John, and it seems to me that while it's important to prepare and fight today, you should really experience what it is you're fighting to save—just in case they disappear."

"But first," she announced, "I have property to retrieve, and I owe Cameron a proper, honest-to-goodness shopping trip!"

With a start, Duncan realized that he had been carrying stolen museum property in his trunk for nearly an entire day. "Wait, wait wait!" he cried, racing to get ahead of Amanda. "Not out in the open in broad daylight! At least let me move the car around back first!"

Dutifully, Amanda turned around and called, "I'll meet you there." She headed toward the back as Duncan wheeled the car around. John looked at Cameron, shrugged at her unspoken question, and followed Amanda back. "What the hell," he thought, "it's not like the rest of us aren't wanted felons, too." He had to admit a certain curiosity as to what Amanda had stolen—whatever it was clearly had some sentimental value to her.

As they opened the door to the back entrance to the studio, they found Duncan already there, carrying the statue wrapped in some blankets he had kept in the trunk. "Hurryup hurryup hurryup!" he chanted, rushing in, anxious to get out of the open.

"Duncan," laughed Amanda. "You're acting like you're the one who stole that!"

Rounding on her, he hissed, "So you ADMIT that this statue is stolen!" A light sheet of sweat shone on his brow. "Damn that thing is heavy," he said to no-one in particular.

"It would be stolen if you had taken it," Amanda corrected, indignation radiating from her body. She moved to help Duncan settle the statue correctly. "This is a statue of me," she announced. "And it's an original Rodin," she replied proudly.

"Rodin sculpted you?" Duncan asked incredulously. "I didn't know you'd known him!"

Amanda smiled softly. "He saw me as I was running down the street after a badger game gone wrong, and he said he'd let me hide out in his studio if I'd pose for him," she recalled wistfully as she began unwrapping the statue.

"What is a badger game?" Cameron asked.

"It's a con game," Duncan muttered. "An extortion scheme. Nevermind."

"Later, Auguste told me he'd decided to keep it and would leave it to me in his will. But by the time I got back to Paris to collect after he died …" Amanda shrugged. "Took me years to track it down. But I _am_ the rightful owner, and I'd deserve it anyway," she insisted.

"Why you?" John asked.

"I guess he was a boob man," she said, smirking. "Ta da!" Amanda cried as she swept the coverings off the statue. John, Cameron and Amanda gathered around the front of the statue—a nude of an exultant, well-endowed woman in mid-leap, breasts thrust proudly forward.

Cameron frowned. "That is an inaccurate sculpture," she declared. "Proportionally speaking, the breasts on the sculpture are 23.4 percent larger than yours" she told Amanda.

"They are not!" Amanda cried, outraged.

"Yes they are," Cameron confirmed. John looked between the sculpture and the real thing, comparing them until Cameron looked at him. "There is no need for you to continue looking at Amanda's breasts," she told him. "My analysis is accurate."

John blushed, redfaced. Suddenly, Duncan, on the other side of the statue, began snickering, then laughing out loud.

"What??" Amanda demanded. "It's a beautiful sculpture!"

Duncan choked as he tried to control himself. "A boob man? Are you sure he wasn't an ass man, Amanda?" Tears were beginning to run out of his eyes.

"What? What do you mean?"

Duncan pointed, and as they went to the other side of the statue, they all saw it: a distinctly hand-shaped indentation on the right buttock of the statue.

"What the hell?" Amanda cried. "That wasn't there last week!" Beside her, John, too, began to snicker. Then it hit her in a flash. The frightened museum guard accidentally shooting Cameron. Cameron stepping back from the sheer impact …

then _tightening her grip on the statue _to keep from dropping it.

Amanda stalked over to Cameron grabbing her left hand and dragging it toward the statue. Fitting it to the imprint she saw a perfect match.

"God damnit!" she swore. "I've been trying to get this thing for nearly 100 years!" she wailed. "Now it's ruined."

"Cam," John chuckled. "I didn't know you liked asses so much!" Beside him, Duncan had given up trying to stay up right and was flat on his back, grasping his stomach as he continued to convulse in laughter.

"Grrr!!" Amanda growled as she stomped out of the room, as John's and Duncan's guffaws continued after her. "Not funny!" she yelled as she went upstairs.

* * *

A/N:

Just an epilogue left, which I'll post in a couple days. Then the story will continue in a currently unnamed sequel with a more serious plot. Thanks to all who've followed this and reviewed!

A badger game is a classic con game in which an attractive female lures a wealthy, married man into a sexually charged situation, and compromising photos of him are taken and used to blackmail him.


	15. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Cameron walked to the front door of the Connor home, face blank despite the surprise of seeing John still up, sitting on the front porch with a computer on his lap, idly surfing the net. John's eyes brightened as he looked up. "Hey," he greeted her. "Did you have fun?"

Cameron thought for a moment. "I believe I did," she decided. "It was not as enjoyable as doing things with you, but it was nevertheless good to interact with somebody different.

"Cool," John responded. He got up and put his arms around her, kissing her on the cheek. He didn't recognize the names of the stores on the bags she carried, but he knew enough to recognize expensive packaging when he saw it. "Let's go put your new things away, wouldn't want them to get wrinkled."

"Amanda insisted on paying for everything to make up for deceiving me into helping her break into the museum," Cameron told him as they walked inside. "Would you like to see what I got?"

He shrugged. "Sure, sounds like a kind of thing a good boyfriend would do. I'm going to get a soda first. You want one?"

Shaking her head, she said, "No, thank you. Go wait in your room. I will meet you there."

A few minutes later, John sprawled on his bed, idly flipping through a magazine. What a celebrity gossip rag was doing at their home was beyond him, but he was bored, and it had been sitting on the coffee table. Perhaps Kacy had left it. In any case, none of the so-called celebrity actresses could hold a candle to Cameron, he noted. He sighed and tossed the magazine across the room, looking up as the door opened.

Cameron walked in, clad in tight, faded jeans and casual white blouse—a stark contrast from the dark grays and slates she seemed to usually favor. Her hair shone and a soft smile graced face. "Do you like it?"

Stunned, he could only nod. "Good," she replied, obviously pleased. "Wait here," she requested before she turned and left.

Over the next half hour, Cameron paraded in and out of John's room, showing him the new outfits she had bought, including two long formal gowns that she had purchased after, "Amanda told me to buy them 'just because.' Because what, John?" she asked.

John didn't know what Amanda had meant, so Cameron cocked her head to the side for a second and decided she didn't need to know. "One more outfit," she told him as she walked out. John threw his head back. Cameron was beautiful no matter what, and she seemed to be having fun, but he personally was bored. He closed his eyes as a took another swig of soda. Mmm, grape, he thought. The click of the latch being released signaled Cameron's returned and he opened his eyes, barely turning his head away from Cameron's direction as a fine mist of grape soda sprayed from his mouth.

Cameron wore a black, shiny, vinyl bondage outfit that barely covered the important parts of her body, and in her hand was a painfully real-looking whip. Solicitously, she hurried over to pound his back has he continued to choke and sputter.

Once he had recovered, she asked, "Don't you like it?" There was a hurt expression on her face.

"No!" John said hurriedly. "I mean yes! I mean, you … you always look beautiful, no matter what you wear, but that's a …. That's a really … different kind of outfit, isn't it?"

Cameron frowned. "I admit it seems to not be very practical, except that it is water resistant. But Amanda insisted I buy it and model it for you."

"What?? Why??" he demanded.

"Actually, she put it this way," Cameron said before her voice abruptly changed to a perfect reproduction of Amanda's voice, accent and cadence.

"Gotcha, John!" Amanda's voice said. "You didn't really think I was letting you off the hook that easily, did you?"

John's eyes bulged. "You knew I would react like this, didn't you?"

Cameron looked at him blankly and smirked for a split second, saying nothing.

"Not funny, Cam," he said, annoyed.

"I thought this would make sure you remembered your lesson," Cameron told him. "Besides, it was amusing."

John glared, and Cameron's smile turned into a grin. "It could have been worse. Amanda wanted to buy YOU something, too."

John looked away, blushing suddenly.

"John," Cameron said after a while. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

John shook his head ruefully. "I guess not. Shocked, maybe a little annoyed, but I guess this'll remind me never to take you two lightly again," he said. "It was pretty funny," he admitted.

Just then, the door opened.

"John, we have a lead to …" Sarah began as she walked before she stopped short, Her eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up beyond her hairline as she took in Cameron's outfit and her position as she stood over John with a whip in her hand.

"Mom!" John yelped, jumping up and standing in front of Cameron, covering his girlfriend's scantily clad body with his own and turning around protectively. Sarah's eyes narrowed.

"We have a lead to follow," Sarah repeated, still glaring at the two of them "We're going on a road trip to Chicago."

She turned to leave, then stopped. "And John," she said, without turning around.

"Yes?" he asked timidly.

"I don't know what I interrupted, and I don't want to know. But we're never talking about this. Ever. And I'm never going to see something like this again. Right?"

"Right!" he responded immediately.

"Good," she said as she slammed the door behind her.

John flopped onto his bed and buried his head in the pillow, mortified. "I want to die," he moaned, voice muffled.

"But you are an Immortal, so that is unlikely," Cameron reminded him.

"Damn."

* * *

Author's notes:

Thanks to all who read, and that goes double for those who reviewed. As you might guess, in the next installment, the team will be paying a visit to the Windy City—and to other great places outside of California as well. Hope you'll check that out when it's posted!

Thanks to lilaeth, who pointed out an error in my Highlander knowledge in Chapter 8. It's been corrected.

To Lego Land: While women can indeed be just as dangerous as men, there is never an acceptable non self-defense-related reason for a man to hit a woman, even out of anger. And that's what John did. As for why everyone forgives Amanda so readily—well, we all have at least one friend or relative that nobody can ever stay mad at, don't we?


End file.
